The Begotten
by Orodruin
Summary: It’s been more than five years since Jarod has last seen Nia when a newspaper ad has him racing back to Toluca. Nia needs his help; her son is missing. The world and the Centre are changing again. Post-series/continuation.
1. Toluca

The Begotten

_R. Winters_

Disclaimer: The Pretender, it's characters and ideas, do not belong to me, however the events and characters not part of the original Pretender series do belong to me.

I wasn't going to start posting a new story until my other stories were finished... but this idea wouldn't leave me alone so I figured I might as well see what other people think of it. I'll update once a month for the time being, I think, because I really do need to finish my other stories before I spend all of my time working on this one.

I first watched The Pretender back when it came out in the 90s, but I only saw a few episodes and it disappeared into the back of my mind. Then I found a great deal on the first season at a garage sale a few months ago, and since have collected all of the seasons and the movies to sate my apparent inability to think of anything else. The interviews on the DVDs all state that the creators think of it as a show about 'family', so I think this is a natural progression of the series... that and I'm a big Nia/Jarod fan, and was always disappointed that he never revisited her in the series... Anyway, I hope you enjoy chapter 1 of _The Begotten_, and I look forward to hearing your thoughts on this.

Thanks to planet p for pointing out a few of my typos in this one...

Chapter 1 – Toluca

"Jarod!"

The snow blew around them with a fresh fury, and Jarod drew his arctic jacket more tightly around himself, shivering. He smiled, although his lips couldn't be seen buried beneath several layers of scarf.

"You've got to help me!"

"You mean like you helped Trevor?" Jarod questioned, coldly, dispassionate eyes fixed on the other man.

Venard Kingsley struggled again to free his leg from the pike driven through it, trapping him high on Mount McKinley, then fell back, sucking in a desperate lungful of air.

"Please!" He called out again, "I'll die!"

"That's the idea," Jarod agreed genially, "It was, after all, what you wanted when you left your partner here to freeze."

"What do you want, Hammond?" Venard demanded angrily, "Do you want money? Help me and I'll do anything!"

"Did Trevor beg?" Jarod asked, "Did he shout after you as you trekked back down the mountain, knowing that he would never survive the night? _Did_ he?"

Venard released a frustrated yell. "Is that what you want?" He shouted, "You want me to admit that I killed Trevor?"

Jarod said nothing, simply staring at the man expectantly.

"Fine!" Venard snapped, "I left him up here—but I didn't kill him! It was an accident, like I said. There was nothing I could have done!"

"You could have helped him!" Jarod snapped, "But you didn't—because you were greedy! Maybe you didn't orchestrate the accident yourself, but make no mistake, _Venard_, you were the one that killed him. And for what—a larger piece of the prize? You could have saved his life, but instead you left him to die so that you could finish the contest first. I hope you used that money well, Venard, because you're never going to see it again."

Jarod turned away from the man, heavy boots crunching on the hard, compact snow even as Venard yelled after him desperately.

* * *

"Hey."

Jarod glanced at Jack briefly as the other man slipped into the front seat beside him, still adjusting a pair of thermal long-johns. He smiled, "Time to switch up?"

"Switch after grub," Jack grunted, pulling out a well-worn map and making a show of unfolding it. "Stop at Sally's—Exit 22. Should be just a mile or so up the road."

Jarod nodded, "Actually a quarter, according to the sign we passed before you came down."

Jack peered out the window, squinting into the blowing snow. He pointed, "You're right—there it is."

Turning the wheel, Jarod eased the large truck off the highway, pulling it to a stop a minute later in front of a small, dimly lit diner. Shifting everything to park, Jarod finished shutting the engine down and grabbed his heavy coat, following his partner out of the cab.

"Well, that's it, Jarod," Jack said as he opened the door and ushered the younger man ahead of him into the cheerfully warm atmosphere waiting for them. "The hard part is over."

Jarod grunted in acknowledgement, "The Haul Road. Somehow I imagined it would be more difficult."

"Eh! Shut the door—you're letting the cold in!" The middle-aged woman at the counter shouted out.

The two men shuffled inside and Jarod offered an apologetic smile. "Don't get me wrong," he continued, looking at Jack, "It's not a walk in the park, but with all the stories I've heard I expected ice pits and grizzly attacks."

Jack snorted, "The media always plays up the dangers."

Sliding into a pair of open seats at the counter—and receiving a few half-hearted welcomes from the other truckers on the line—Jarod grabbed the paper from the end, glancing it over as the waitress filled another order.

_Accidental Death Declared Murder_, a headline halfway down the front page announced, the smaller subtitle giving the details: _Kingsley Awaiting Trial after Losing Leg to Denali._

He smiled thinly; he wondered what Trevor Bison would have given to live another twenty years with a prosthetic limb. More than Kingsley would get in jail, no doubt.

Casually, he flipped through the following pages, glancing up and down the text—a glass hit the counter before him and he looked up. The middle-aged waitress didn't smile at him, already moving back down the counter, but a steaming mug of coffee was all the kindness Jarod could possibly want at the moment.

"Thank you," he called after her, lifting the cup with one hand as he turned his eyes back to the paper.

The coffee never touched his lips—instead, he found himself staring at an ad on page 13E. Dread bubbled inside of him and he reread the words again, wishing his genius mind would discern something more than what was printed.

"_Jarod—Come to Toluca, I need you!"_

The man's mind turned to Toluca. To Oregon, where he'd been a forest ranger and saved a young man named Victor Simpkins. And met the woman he loved. Something was wrong.

It could be a trap. The Centre was crippled, but far from destroyed and Jarod had lived in fear too long to allow his mind to be at ease. If it was a trap, it was one they hadn't tried before, and someone who knew him well would have had to orchestrate it.

He glanced at the date on the paper; it was five days old. And he was in the middle of nowhere. It would take at least another day to reach a serviceable airport, and that was only if he could convince Jack to take him on a small side-trip.

Not going wasn't an option, though—Nia might be in danger.

"Hey, you okay?" Jack asked, breaking Jarod from his thoughts.

The younger man looked up, still having trouble shaking off the disturbing discovery. He forced a smile. "Fine. I'm suddenly not hungry. Let's get back on the road; I'll drive while you eat."

The older trucker frowned at him dubiously, but shrugged. "Whatever you say, Jarod." He turned his attention to the waitress further down the counter, "Eh! Peggy, gimme mine to go!"

* * *

Nia paced the length of her living room, thoughts and emotions in turmoil. Surely Jarod had gotten her message by now. She glanced at her things; a bulging green sack ready for her to slip on at a moment's notice. She should just go alone.

The police wouldn't be able to do anything, and she was wasting time waiting for Jarod. He might not have even seen her message. He might not remember.

Stifling a sob, Nia collapsed on the couch, head drooping in her hands as tears spilled from her eyes. She was out of her league, what could she do that the police couldn't do?

But there was always Jarod; she just had to hope that he'd seen her messages. That he'd come. That there would be something he could do and he wouldn't hate her.

Nia looked up sharply as a quick, rapping knock sounded on her door. She stood, wiping at her bloodshot eyes and wasting a few seconds in an attempt to make herself look presentable. She knew it was futile the moment she started—she hadn't slept in days and she'd spent more time crying than not. She'd lost weight and the worry lines would probably never disappear from her face.

Crossing the room quickly, Nia threw the door open, half expecting to see Derek or one of the many police officers that had been interviewing her almost constantly for the first few days. A second sob stuck in her throat when she saw him—looking just like he had the last time she'd seen him.

Without a thought, Nia threw herself against him, clinging to his leather jacket, and sobbed.

It took a moment for Jarod to react. Slowly his hands rose to her back, forming a gentle embrace around her. Making hushing sounds, he maneuvered her back into the house, reaching back to shut the door behind him before replacing his hand and using it to make soothing motions on her back.

Nia only cried louder.

* * *

Ten minutes after he'd arrived, Jarod finally calmed Nia down. She sat on the sofa, nursing a steaming mug of tea. Her eyes were red and her cheeks sallow. She didn't hold the same fighting spirit she'd had the last time he'd seen her. She seemed broken, and very sad.

"Nia," he said quietly, shifting closer to her on the couch and touching one of her hands. The woman flinched slightly but didn't pull away. He sighed, "I'm sorry, Nia."

The woman looked up in surprise, dark eyes wide. "What do you have to be sorry for?"

He smiled thinly, "I'm sorry I never came back. I meant to, I just…" He trailed off miserably, not sure how to adequately express himself. He didn't have a real excuse. After everything that had happened on Carthis… there hadn't been a day that he hadn't thought about coming back to her. But there was always more for him to do, and he didn't dare settle anywhere for long with the Centre still out there.

"Did you find your family?" Nia asked sympathetically.

Jarod shook his head. "I almost met my mother, but every time I have the chance to see one of my family members, we always seem to be forced apart again. I'm still looking for them. Hopefully, next time, we'll be able to be together for good."

Nia nodded vaguely. Tears welled in her eyes again.

Frowning, Jarod leaned closer, draping an arm around her slender shoulders—they shook and trembled. "What is it, Nia? Why did you call me here? Your message implied that it was important."

She looked at him, tears leaking from her eyes and he cringed.

"Not that I don't appreciate the opportunity to see you!" Jarod said quickly, "I'd have come just for that; but your message said you needed something. Please, I hate to see you like this, Nia."

Instead of answering, Nia reached in the left breast pocket of her tan jacket and pulled out a photograph, silently handing it to the man. Jarod took it carefully and turned it over, breath catching at what he saw.

A little boy smiled back at him, skin a light shade of brown and black hair trimmed short. His light brown eyes shone brightly and he was dressed in climbing gear, bracing himself on top of a rock that looked like it was probably as big as he was in front of the looming trees of the National Forest.

"That's Luke," Nia supplied softly, "Well, Lucas, but I call him Luke. I thought it was fitting… since he never knew his father. But he wants to be just like him," she motioned to the picture, "He's already decided he wants to be a forest ranger, just like his dad. Well, that or a Jedi Knight." Her eyes rose, meeting Jarod's meaningfully.

"His… dad?" Jarod almost choked on the word, emotion swelling in his chest as his eyes fell on familiar features. The eyes were _his_ honey-brown eyes. The curve of the jaw was his. The small, quirked smile—his.

"Is he…?" Jarod's mind had pieced it together, but his mouth didn't seem to be working in sync with the rest of him. "Am I…?"

Nia stared at him, fear, sorrow, hope shining clearly out of her dark eyes. "He's our son, Jarod."

Jarod opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Tears rose in his own eyes and he tried to blink them away, looking down at the picture again. Such a beautiful boy—his son. He could hardly believe he was a father; but Nia wouldn't lie to him.

"Where…?" Jarod breathed, voice breaking before he managed to finish the question. "Where is he? I want to see him."

Nia wasn't looking at him now. Instead, she was staring down at her own clasped hands, tears in her eyes again. "That's why I called you here, Jarod," she said brokenly, her voice catching. "Luke… he's gone." She looked up, meeting his eyes meaningfully, "I think they took him, Jarod."

Jarod couldn't breathe for an entire thirty seconds. _They_ could only mean the Centre. They had been suspiciously quiet lately—he hadn't seen a trace of Miss Parker since he'd left her in the wreckage of an airplane with her wreckage of a family. He'd never believed it would last indefinitely, and if Nia was right, they were up to their old tricks again. Only this time they had his son. His chest ached, fear and pain and anger welling inside of him. They'd taken his _son_!

Nia saw the flash in his eyes and flinched back.

"Tell me exactly what happened," Jarod demanded, turning to face her, unable to hide the old hatred that had resurfaced inside of him. Did he have to kill every person that was ever connected to the Centre to finally take back his life? If that's what it took, he would do it for Luke.

Nodding, Nia stood. She started to pace again.

"I had gone to work, and dropped Luke off at daycare, as usual," she explained, "Only when I went to get him afterwards, he was already gone. They said he'd been picked up earlier by a man. They said he claimed he was Luke's father, and Luke seemed eager to go with him, so they let him."

A sob worked its way out of Nia's throat and she shook her head, raising a hand to hide her eyes even though Jarod had already seen her cry.

"I made sure that Luke knew about you," she said miserably, "I told him he had a father; I told him you loved him, and you'd come back to us some day, Jarod. Luke was always talking about what it was going to be like when he met you. I think they sent someone pretending to be you—he must have said he was you."

Jarod stood quickly and crossed to the woman, wrapping his arms around her again. "It wasn't your fault," he said, gently but insistent. "I never would have wanted Luke to feel like I'd abandoned him. I'm glad he knew about me, at least." For so long he'd wondered about his own family—if they'd abandoned him, if they loved him, if they were dead… he never wanted anyone, his son least of all, to feel that painful ignorance.

Nia looked up at him quickly, her eyes shining from tears. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Jarod," she said quickly, words stumbling on top of each other, "I wanted to—god, how I wanted to. I didn't know how; it didn't seem like the kind of thing I should broadcast, and I didn't know how to get a hold of you, you said it wasn't safe!"

"I know," Jarod said gently, ignoring the pain in his own heart. He'd had a son and he hadn't even known it—it was almost too much to bear.

"It turns out it didn't matter," Nia muttered miserably, "They probably knew about Luke from the beginning. He was smart, you know—like you. He's only four, but he reads everything he can get his hands on and knows more about wilderness survival than most people learn in a life time," she laughed, meeting his surprised eyes, "He wants to be a ranger, remember?"

"Like me," Jarod confirmed grimly, recalling the week he'd spent in the National Forest.

Nia melted in his arms and was crying all over again, feeling stupid but unable to stop herself. "God, Jarod, we have to find him. They're—they're going to do to him what they did to you, aren't they?"

Jarod's heart tore at the thought of a child—_his_ child—going through that all over again. It was a cycle that had to be broken. The Centre had taken so many innocent lives; he couldn't let it take his son's life, too. He couldn't let it take Luke.

"I'll find him," Jarod said firmly, "I promise. And when I do, we'll be a family together."

To his surprise, Nia shook her head, twisting to look up at him. "No, Jarod. When we become a family… I want your father to walk me down the aisle and your mother to send us off. You can't throw away your dream of finding them just for us." She smiled a watery smile, "Although… Luke and I would love it if you'd visit once in a while."

Jarod stared at her with more love than he'd felt even the first time he'd held her in his arms. "I promise," he said, and pressed his lips on hers.

Nia was still frozen, overcome by the passion of the moment when Jarod pulled away, suddenly moving about the room frantically.

"The message you sent me was over five days old when I got it," Jarod said, speaking in a quick, business-like manner. They had to get this done; they had to get their son back as quickly as possible, before the Centre had the opportunity to do anything irreversible to him. "When was Luke taken?"

"Last Monday," Nia answered quickly, breaking out of her daze and hurrying to catch up with him. "What I don't understand is why they waited until now to take him."

"They probably wanted to wait until they were sure he was what they wanted," Jarod said grimly, "I was five when they took me, I think."

"But they weren't watching you grow up," Nia said. She faltered when she saw the expression on his face, "Were they?"

Jarod nodded, "The Centre had their eyes on me since even before I was born. They were behind the clinic my parents used. We should interview that daycare you left Luke at—maybe the attendants can fill us in on what the man who took him looked like."

Nia nodded, following him to the door. She grabbed her bag on the way; they wouldn't have to come back until they'd found Luke. "I wish I'd had a picture to show him," she murmured, "Then Luke wouldn't have been tricked so easily."

"Which just means they would have had to do something more extreme to take him," Jarod said, "Like terrify him while they stole him out of his bed. Hopefully, if he thinks he's with his father, he won't be as afraid as I was."

* * *

"Have you seen these symbols before, Luke?"

The boy looked at the blocks spread out on the table in front of him, eyes roving swiftly over the chain above the set of free blocks. He nodded.

"I'd like you to solve this equation," the man said. "Take as much time as you need."

The boy smiled, immediately reaching for the blocks. Swiftly, he stacked one on top of another until he had a nine-block tower.

The man frowned, "Luke, I asked you to solve the equation, not play with them."

Reaching out, the boy turned the tower. The man's eyes widened—from top to bottom, the tower spelled out the answer completely.

"Very good, Luke," he conceded.

Luke's smile widened, "Can I see my daddy, now?"

The man nodded towards the door. Luke twisted in his seat and his smile broke into a grin. Jumping to his feet, he ran to the man, tackling his legs with a hug.

The man chuckled, patting him on his back. He looked past the boy, at the psychologist rising from the table. "How did he do?"

"Twenty three seconds," the man replied, turning the tower to face the man, "He's set a new record."

Smiling, the man patted Luke's back again, "That's my son. You make a father proud, Luke."

Luke stepped back to look up at the man's face. "When are we going to go home?"

"Not just yet, Luke," the man said gently.

* * *

Jarod stood a step in front of Nia as he knocked on the door. They heard raised voices, then footsteps, and finally the door opened. A middle-aged woman with frizzy red hair answered, smile slipping off her face as her eyes landed on Nia.

"Ms. Pedron," she greeted, "I'm so sorry about Luke."

"That's what we came to talk to you about," Jarod supplied, "We want you to tell us about the man who took off with Luke."

The woman looked uncertainly at Jarod, "Who are you?"

"This is Luke's father," Nia supplied grimly, "Luke's _real_ father."

The woman paled a shade, looking away. "Oh. I'm… I'm sorry, Mr…?"

"Forest," Jarod supplied, adopting the name he'd used the last time he was in these parts, "But please call me Jarod."

"I'll do whatever I can to help," the woman assured him, "I swear, I thought he was Luke's father. I tried calling Nia, but she was out of the shop, and Luke was so adamant about going with him."

"We can start with a name," Jarod suggested, "What did he call himself?"

"Jarod," the woman replied, hesitant eyes darting to look him up and down. "Jarod Forest, he said. I thought… well, his name was the same, and Luke said it was his father. I didn't know…"

"There was no way you could have," Jarod assured her, "We aren't here to cast blame; we just want to get our son back. May we come in?"

The woman nodded, stepping back for them to enter. "Can I get you anything?" She asked. A particularly loud peal of laughter issued from the other room—she glanced towards it, and then the couple. "They love Sherrie's stories."

Following her, Jarod nodded, "Do you have some paper I can sketch on, and a pencil?"

She stared at him blankly for a moment before offering, "I have construction paper and crayons."

Jarod smiled, "That'll work."

The woman nodded. "Wait here," she offered, ushering the pair into a sitting room, "I'll get the paper and be back in a minute."

"Crayons?" Nia asked Jarod, eyebrow raised.

"I want to draw a profile," Jarod explained, "That way we'll have a positive identity."

"You can do that?" Nia asked in surprise.

Jarod smirked, "Of course. I've been a police sketch artist, you know."

Nia laughed, but her laughter quickly turned to a suppressed sob.

Pressing his lips together grimly, Jarod pulled her close, gently rubbing her shoulder. "Hey, hey, it's going to be okay. We'll find Luke, I promise."

Nia nodded against his shoulder, but didn't respond. She'd spent the last five years raising her baby alone; losing him would be like losing her own life.

The woman stepped in the room, hesitating at the door.

"Um… excuse me," she said awkwardly, walking towards them. "Here… are the… crayons," she murmured, holding a pad of construction paper and a box of crayons towards the man.

Jarod smiled and reached out for them. "Thank you. Now, if you could tell us about the man who claimed to be me."

The woman nodded, sitting on the couch opposite them.

"He was… clean-shaven," the woman replied hesitantly, "Dark brown hair, blue eyes. He had a friendly face, and he seemed happy to see Luke. He… he was really convincing." She shook her head and continued, "He was tall; a little taller than you, I think… Mr. Forest."

As she was speaking, Jarod was drawing. She paused, watching him. Jarod added a few more strokes to his paper and then held it out, turning it around.

"Is this the man?" Jarod asked.

The woman's wide eyes answered his question before she did. "Yes! That's him!"

Nia looked at Jarod in surprise, "Do you know this man?"

Jarod's expression was grim. "Mr. Lyle," he supplied, trying to suppress the sudden wave of hatred he felt. The man had killed his brother, he'd tried to kill him on numerous occasions, and he'd tortured him in a cell in the Centre's basement. He was the last person Jarod wanted to be influencing his son. "He's from the Centre, alright. I thought he was dead—but, then, I also thought the Centre was dead." _Hoped_ was more like it. He'd _hoped_ Lyle was dead when he didn't hear anything from him for so long—he'd _hoped_ the loss of the scrolls and their power base would send the Centre to ruin. Apparently, neither had happened.

Nia's face crumpled. "Then they do have him."

"I'm afraid so," Jarod confirmed somberly.

"Do you know where they could be keeping him?" Nia asked desperately, looking up at the man.

"… It's possible that he's at the Delaware site, but since I know how to get in and out of that easily, he's probably being held somewhere else," Jarod supplied, "There are a few smaller laboratories around that I know of but have never been to in person, but what we're looking for might be someplace else entirely… This could take some time, Nia," he added apologetically.

"Excuse me… I don't mean to pry, but what is the center?" the daycare attendant asked uncertainly.

Jarod looked at her, meeting her eyes grimly. "It is a very bad place."


	2. Daddy Lyle

The Begotten

_R. Winters_

Disclaimer: I don't own characters, situations, places, or other intellectual property from _The Pretender_.

Thanks for your support on chapter 1, everyone. I hope you'll continue to enjoy the story with this chapter... I'm not really sure what else to say, but I'm eager to know what people think.

Chapter 2 – Daddy Lyle

"Can't I stay with you?" Luke asked, clinging to the man's hand as he escorted him down the hall.

"I have some work to finish up," the man replied, smiling down at him, "We can spend time together later. For now I want you to spend some more time with Dr. Melson."

Luke made a face. "I don't like Dr. Melson," he complained, "He's not fun."

The man chuckled, "Well, not everything in life is fun."

The little boy hummed discontentedly. "What work are you doing, daddy?" He asked.

"You wouldn't understand," the man excused.

"I'm going to be a ranger, too," Luke announced, "I already know all about it. Mommy says I'll make a really good ranger. She's going to take me rock climbing next year, when I'm bigger." He frowned up at the man, "When are we going to go home?"

"After I finish my work," the man said, "I promise."

Luke frowned up at him, "What kind of work are you doing? I didn't see any forests when we came."

"That's because I'm not really a forest ranger," the man said. He smiled and winked at the boy, "Not anymore. I was once—when I met your mother."

Luke looked up at him, eyes wide with wonder, "What are you _now_?"

"Oh, I'm in charge of things right now," the man replied, smiling, "I'm in charge of a lot of things. But, most importantly, I'm your father."

The little boy grinned, his smile stretching widely. The man opened the door, where Dr. Melson was waiting. The man looked up, spectacles gleaming. Luke's smile vanished as he looked around the room curiously.

"What are we doing here?" He asked curiously, taking in the strange furnishings around the room.

Dr. Melson stepped forward. "I want to play a game today, Luke," he said, "I want you to pretend something for me."

"Do you like pretending, Luke?" Luke looked up at his father and nodded.

"I like games," the boy supplied hopefully.

"Then you'll love this," his father supplied, clapping the boy on the shoulder. "I expect you'll do well at this, Luke."

Luke looked up at him, watching as he turned his back and left.

"Luke," Dr. Melson drew his attention away from the shut door. "Let's get started."

Luke turned to face the man, eyes scanning the room, frowning. "What kind of game are we playing?"

Dr. Melson smiled and opened a folder. He pulled out a photograph. "Have you seen this building before?"

Luke took the photograph, examining the building. Slowly, he shook his head, "What is it?"

"I want you to pretend you're an architect, Luke. The one who built this," Dr. Melson indicated the photograph again. "I'll be watching."

Luke frowned, lowering the photograph to look at the man, then around at the equipment in the room. "That doesn't sound like a fun game."

"Your father's expecting you to do well," the man reminded him.

Luke looked at him, then at the picture again, and finally at the blocks, Erectors, and Legos scattered around the room. He set the picture down on a table and moved for the other items, quickly beginning to piece them together.

* * *

Exactly two hours later, Lyle returned, head high and a cocky smirk on his face. "Well, Dr. Melson, how did my _son_ do?" His eyes landed on the four-foot building sitting in the middle of the floor, then on the little boy sitting in a chair at the table, scribbling on a sheet of paper.

Dr. Melson's eyes were bright as he stood and walked towards him, but Luke beat him to it, jumping to his feet and running across the room.

"Daddy!" The boy exclaimed excitedly, catching the man's hand and tugging it a little. "See what I made? It's the Empire State Building."

Lyle smiled vaguely at the boy and looked at the other man expectantly.

"It's incredible," Dr. Melson supplied eagerly, "He's knocked ten minutes off of Jarod's record."

Lyle's smile tightened and he looked down at Luke, who had stilled and was frowning up at the two of them curiously.

"Obviously Dr. Melson isn't talking about me, Luke," Lyle said, "I have a friend who is also named Jarod—neat, isn't it?"

The boy smiled again, easily taking the explanation. "I want a friend named Luke," he decided.

Lyle chuckled and ruffled the boy's black hair, "Maybe I'll get you one, someday. Are you ready to go?"

Luke bobbed his head in a nod, but let go of the man's hand, running back to his table to grab the paper he'd been drawing on. He ran back, still smiling, as he held the paper towards the man.

"I drew this," he announced, holding the picture up.

Three figures smiled up at Lyle, and while they were a touch crude, their identities were obvious. Him; the woman, Nia Pedron; and Luke in between, all in front of a backdrop of pines.

"Are we going home _now_?" Luke asked.

Lyle looked across at Dr. Melson. The man nodded at him. He looked back down at Luke and released a sigh, sinking down to one knee.

"Luke… there's something we need to talk about."

The little boy's smile faded and he frowned up at him curiously. "What, daddy?"

"… There's been an accident at Nia's… your mother's work," Lyle explained gently.

Luke's expression turned wary and he stared up into the man's eyes soberly. "What kind of accident?"

"Last week," Lyle said, "I picked you up from daycare. Remember?"

Luke nodded.

"That's because I had gotten a call earlier that day," Lyle said. He met the boy's eyes, his blue eyes soft with sympathy, "Nia… your mother is dead, Luke."

The boy's eyes widened with horror. "Wha-what?"

Lyle said nothing, but pulled the boy close, circling him with an embrace. He whispered into his hair, "I'm sorry, Luke."

"No! No, no, no!" Luke trembled in his arms, and then started to fight, thrashing against the hold. Lyle didn't loosen his hold, continuing to hold him firmly until, at last, Luke relaxed and started to cry.

"It's okay, Luke," Lyle murmured, smiling into the boy's hair, "It's all going to be okay. Dr. Melson and I will take care of you from now on. You're going to be okay."

* * *

"What's wrong?" Dr. Melson asked sharply, frowning at the little boy who sat alone at a small table, unenthusiastically stirring his meal around just as he had every other time he'd been sat down to eat since he had been brought in. "Are you feeling ill?"

Luke looked up at him in surprise, then his eyes dropped back to the green and white mash in his bowl. His face scrunched in disgust and he raised a large spoonful of the thick slop and let it fall back into the bowl.

"I don't want to eat this," he complained, "It's gross."

"It's a carefully balanced formula to provide you with all of the nutrients your body requires," Dr. Melson said.

Luke stirred his spoon around again. "It's gross," he repeated stubbornly.

"You need to eat, Luke," Dr. Melson insisted.

"I want a cheeseburger," Luke said, pushing the bowl away.

Dr. Melson scowled and sat down next to him, dragging the bowl to the edge of the table again. He lifted the spoon, holding it in front of the boy's mouth. "Mr. Lyle… your _father_ is going to be very unhappy with us both if you don't eat. I don't want that—do you?"

Luke looked from the food to the man uncertainly. "Daddy would be… disappointed?"

"Yes," Dr. Melson said, "Very."

Luke looked at the food dubiously, but was saved from having to make an unattractive decision when the door opened and his father stepped in, smiling. Luke moved to greet him, but Dr. Melson held him firmly in place, guiding his hand to the spoon once more sitting in his bowl.

"Eat," the man said sternly before rising.

"Is something wrong?" Mr. Lyle asked, a concerned expression falling into place on his face.

"Luke is still refusing to eat more than a few spoonfuls of his food," Dr. Melson reported dutifully.

Mr. Lyle's eyes slid across to the boy, who shifted uneasily, looking down. The man walked across and hunkered down next to him, smiling apologetically. "It doesn't taste very good, does it?"

Luke shook his head, staring at it miserably. "Are you disappointed, daddy?"

The man sighed. "Well, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't, but I understand, Luke. It takes time to get used to this place—the way we do things." He looked at the wheatgrass cereal specially formulated for test subjects and hid a grimace with a smile. It _did _look like something that had been previously digested.

"This is what everyone eats here," he said, "Our work is very important, and we can't allow people to become ill or weak from improper nutrition. I just want you to be healthy and strong, Luke. We're not making you eat this to be cruel. Do you understand?"

Luke nodded miserably and lifted a spoonful of the awful gunk from his bowl. He looked at his father hesitantly; the man nodded encouragingly. Screwing up his face, Luke shoveled the bite into his mouth, grimacing as he choked it down.

Lyle chuckled and patted the boy on the back. "Don't worry, you'll get used to it."

Picking up his water glass, Luke quickly washed the taste down. He frowned up at his father, "How long do we have to stay here?"

"Just until I finish my work," Lyle assured him with a smile.

Luke groaned, "How long will _that_ be?"

"Mm. I don't know. Maybe it would go more quickly if you help me, Luke," he mused, "You're a very smart little boy, you know."

Luke brightened. "I can help you work? What kind of work are we doing?"

"I work for a very special organization," Lyle explained, "One that thinks up how to do things to help people. I think you would be very good at it, Luke. Do you want to help?"

"What do I do?" Luke asked eagerly.

Lyle smiled. "Well, first you need to eat your food," he pointed to the bowl—Luke groaned again but obediently shoved another bite in his mouth. The man chuckled, patting his back again. "And then… I want you to pretend."

Blinking, Luke frowned up at him in confusion. "You mean like the game I played with Dr. Melson and the building?"

"Like that," Lyle agreed, "But much more."

Luke frowned at him quizzically. "A bigger tower?"

Lyle shook his head. "Today you pretended you were an architect, right?"

Luke nodded dubiously.

"Tomorrow I want you to try to pretend to be another person," Lyle said, "Someone with feelings that motivate everything that he does."

Luke frowned in confusion, "Someone not me?"

"Just for a little while," Lyle assured him, "It's hard to understand right now, but Dr. Melson will help you get the hang of things."

Lyle looked at the doctor unhappily, then back at his father. "I thought I was going to work with you."

"You'll be helping my work," Lyle emphasized. "Dr. Melson's helping me, too, so you two will work together for now. Maybe we'll be able to work together after you know what you're doing. Okay?"

Luke nodded morosely.

Lyle smiled at him and stood, patting his head. "Eat," he directed, "When you're done, I have a book I want you to read, okay?"

"Is it an adventure book?" Luke asked, looking up, "Or a survival manual? I like those; it's important for a ranger to know how to survive in the wilderness."

Lyle glanced at Dr. Melson. "It will help you think about how other people think. It will help you in your work."

"My work," Luke repeated, smiling, "I'm an adult now, aren't I?"

Lyle chuckled, "I don't think you're ready to be an adult just yet. But you'll get there soon enough."

* * *

Luke frowned, staring intently at the pair of images on the wall in front of him.

"I thought I was going to pretend to be another person," he voiced his confusion, glancing towards the doctor. The two pictures were nearly identical images of a city landscape that meant nothing to him.

"This will help you develop the skills you need to do that sort of work," Dr. Melson assured him. "Look at these two pictures and tell me what you see that is different."

Luke looked at the images again, eyes flickering quickly between the two. "In the picture on the left, the building in the back has an extra window. The letters in the store window in the image on the right are a reflection of the ones on the left. There's an extra branch on the tree in the park on the left. And the shadow is deeper in the image on the right."

Dr. Melson was silent for several long seconds. "Is that all, Luke?"

Luke nodded. "I think so."

Dr. Melson frowned at him. "You _think_ so?" He repeated dubiously, "Luke, you need to be certain when it comes to your work. Are you _certain_ those are the only differences?"

Luke hesitated, eyes flicking between the two pictures again. He sucked on his lower lip, then sighed and looked up at the doctor. "I'm… certain."

With a slight nod, the doctor punched a button on the small device he held—the light reflected off the wall flashed and changed and Luke looked back. A new set of images had appeared; this one of two men that could have been twins.

Luke smiled, looking up again, "I was right, wasn't I?"

"I would advise against becoming arrogant," the doctor replied, "The differences will become increasingly difficult. Let's just see how long you can last."

Luke turned back to the pictures, frowning as he glanced between the two. "The man on the left has a little more hair than the one on the right. The man's shoes on the right are bigger. The chains on their pockets are different."

"… Is that all?"

Luke frowned, pressing his lips together firmly. "The one on the left has a spot on his jacket, right below the third button." Lips pursed, he studied the images a moment longer, and then nodded. "That's everything." He paused and then belatedly added, "I'm certain."

Dr. Melson pressed the button on his handheld device again and the images changed once more.

* * *

Lyle sighed irately. "What do you _mean_ he won't come out of his cell?" He asked tiredly. Jarod Junior was turning out to be almost as much of a hassle as the real thing.

"He's…" Dr. Melson hesitated before finally settling on a word, "Distraught, sir."

"Of course he's distraught," Lyle grumbled, "In the last two weeks he's been taken away from his home and put into a completely foreign environment, and then told that his mother is dead. The boy would have to be inhuman not to be _distraught_."

"… He's crying," Dr. Melson supplied awkwardly, "And when we tried to move him, he shrieked for his… _daddy_."

Lyle sighed. He hated kids and was glad he'd never had any of his own. There was certainly some satisfaction in the knowledge that Jarod's own flesh-and-blood considered him his father—he was sure the pretender would have an ulcer when he learned about it—but was it really worth the torture of having to dredge up sympathetic emotions for the whiny little brat?

It was a mistake they'd made with Jarod, he'd been told. They'd taken away all of his hope when they told him his parents were dead. They'd taken away his eagerness to cooperate and made themselves into the Big Bad Wolf. Things had started to degrade from there.

Lucas, on the other hand, would consider The Centre his family in a way no other pretender project ever had. He'd believe he had a real connection, an emotional investment in the corporation. In the end, Luke would cooperate with whatever they wanted him to do because he would want to please his _father._

That was the idea, at least. Lyle wasn't sure he could last that long as a paternal figure. He'd been assured his presence would be required less as the boy adjusted to his new life, but it certainly seemed to be taking him a while.

"I'll see him," he grumbled, shoving his chair back and getting to his feet before walking around the desk. The doctor stepped aside, allowing him to take the lead through the door and down several flights of stairs to the room that held Jarod's son.

He opened the door without knocking, and his ears were immediately tickled by the sound of muffled sobs coming from the boy laying face down on his flat, white bed.

"Luke," he spoke, drawing the boy's attention.

Luke's head turned, and watery red eyes looked up at him from a tear stained face, small whimpering noises and pained gasps still coming from his throat.

Lyle schooled his expression into a sympathetic smile as he crossed over to the boy's bed, perching on the edge. "What's wrong, Luke? I thought you were starting to get used to this. Dr. Melson says you've been doing well on your exercises."

The boy sniffled and buried his face in his pillow again, words muffled as he spoke brokenly, "I want to go home, daddy."

Lyle sighed, placing a hand on the boy's back. "We've been over this before, Luke."

"I don't like it here," Luke muttered miserably, "I want to stay with you, daddy."

"…" Lyle glanced at Dr. Melson in the doorway, but the man shrugged helplessly. He looked back at the boy and sighed. "What, exactly, is it that you don't like about this place? Has anyone hurt you, or treated you badly?"

Luke took a long time to answer, and then it was a simple, petulant, "I don't like it, daddy."

"Luke…"

"I don't like the yucky food," Luke supplied, shifting to look up at his father again, "And I don't like the showers. And I don't like this room; I can hear sounds in the ceiling all night, and I never know where you are. I just want to go home, daddy."

"We'll leave after my work is done," Lyle assured him.

"What work do you need to get done?" Luke questioned desperately.

"The Centre's work," Lyle supplied. He sighed and leaned closer to the boy. "I know this isn't a comfortable place, Luke, and if it was possible, I'd send you back to your mother. But that isn't possible, so we need to make the best out of this situation. I have to stay here—the work is important and I'm needed. If you really want to leave…" He trailed off suggestively.

Luke jumped at him, skinny arms encircling the man's waist in a hug. "I don't want to leave you, daddy," he said desperately. He'd lost his mother, but found his father. He didn't want to chance losing _both_ of them.

"Then you'll have to stay here," Lyle told him, "It'll get better once you're used to things. Please do what Dr. Melson tells you to."

Nodding, Luke wiped at his eyes, looking forlornly from his father to the doctor.

"It's time for your shower, Luke," the doctor said quietly.

Luke sent a pleading look at his father, but the man only nodded, hand gently pressing on his back until he reluctantly got out of bed and followed Melson out the door.

* * *

"I need my computer," Jarod said as they hurried up the walk to Nia's house.

The woman nodded, "I'll get it set up."

Jarod nodded absently, and when they entered the house they separated, him grabbing one bag and her taking another. Jarod immediately got to work, spreading papers on the low coffee table in the living room and sorting through them quickly.

Most of his information about the Centre was stored purely in his mind, but paper copies of some key facts could be useful. Sometimes if you stared at a problem long enough, a solution presented itself that you just couldn't see if it was all in your head.

Nia joined him a few minutes later, carrying his laptop and setting it on a relatively clear space on the table. Jarod didn't look up from a sketch of one of the Centre facilities he'd visited. There were so many, finding their son seemed almost hopeless.

Of course, he could be at Blue Cove. The moment the thought entered his mind, he forced it out again, worried. He was more than willing to attempt another rescue if that was where his son was, but the security had been improved again. Last time he'd been in the Centre, he hadn't had a prayer of getting out on his own.

But he had to find Luke—he couldn't give up. He'd outwitted the Centre this long; he just had to outwit them once more. And this time he'd be on the offensive. But it _would_ be nice to have something to start from.

Setting down the paper, he turned to his laptop, tapping away at keys until his email program popped up. His hands quickly fell into place on the keyboard, and he drafted the message he'd already thought up. He had to hope that one of his contacts knew something. He could appeal to Sydney's guilt and Parker's natural enmity for everything _Parker_. There was always Angelo—if anyone could tell him where Luke was, it would be him.

Decisively hitting the _Send_ icon, Jarod sat back, momentarily overcome by the insurmountable task in front of him. There was no obvious starting point short of storming the main Centre building. But he couldn't afford not to start.

Shifting to a web-surfing program he'd written himself, Jarod hadn't even typed in his first search when the phone rang. He looked up, meeting Nia's wide eyes.

The woman swallowed and stood, slowly walking over to the phone. She lifted it with trepidation.

"… Nia Pedron," her voice was more timid and wary than it usually was. It seemed impossible that any call that came at a time like this could possibly be good news.

Jarod watched carefully as she listened, her face paling. She removed the phone from her ear and held it towards him.

"It… it's for you," she supplied shakily.

Jarod felt a knot of dread form in his stomach. No one should know he was here—other than the daycare attendant they'd spoken with. Even she couldn't be certain that Jarod was staying with Nia.

He pressed the receiver to his ear. "Hello?"

"Jarod," the voice that greeted him was light, friendly, and far too happy not to cause a shiver of apprehension to run down the pretender's spine. "It's been a while since we've seen each other; how have you been?"

Jarod growled, "_Lyle_. Cut with the small-talk, where do you have my son?"

"Luke's fine," Lyle's tone was dismissive, "He isn't particularly happy with his accommodations, but he's content enough to be near to me."

Jarod's hand trembled with anger, and he couldn't think of any way to fully express his hatred to the man on the other end of the line.

Lyle continued, light tone seemingly oblivious to Jarod's anger—the pretender wasn't fooled, he was certain Lyle knew exactly how he was feeling, and that was precisely what caused him to chuckle. "It's crazy, but somehow he seems to have picked up the idea that _I'm_ his father. You know, after growing up isolated from your own parents, I'm surprised you let the same thing happen to your son. I would have thought you'd want better for him. I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

"I'm going to find you," Jarod warned, voice thick and threatening, "And when I do, you can rest assured that no misguided notions of _mercy_ will save you this time around. You've gone too far."

Lyle laughed again, "Yes, I can imagine little Luke's reaction to hearing the person who killed his _daddy_ claiming to be his real father. If you touch me, he'll hate you."

"Rather that than leaving him in your hands," Jarod growled.

"Oh, calm down, I already told you he's fine," Lyle said with exaggerated exasperation. "Luke's being treated well. It's nice to have a pretender who _wants_ to help for a change."

"My son is not a pretender!" Jarod all but roared, his heart racing. He couldn't let the same thing that had happened to him happen to Luke. He'd stopped it once before; why was it so much harder when the victim was his own son?

What did they want Luke for, anyway? Hadn't they already determined that it was something unique about _him_ that the Centre wanted? What did they need another pretender for?

"Mm, not yet," Lyle agreed, "But he's learning quickly. You know, I think he might even be smarter than you were when you were at that age. If we'd known your genes were so resilient, I'm sure the Centre would've tried a breeding project ages ago."

Jarod saw red. He wanted nothing more than to put a bullet in the bastard's head. That he couldn't because he had no idea where the man was grated hard on his nerves.

"You know," Lyle said lightly, "There is a way you could _save_ him."

Jarod's jaw worked silently in his fury. He couldn't have formed words if it was his only hope on earth.

"Come back to us, Jarod," Lyle said, softly but forcefully into the phone. "Turn yourself over to us and there would be no reason to continue our new project. Luke's brilliant, but he'll take time and resources to train; you're already a master at SIMS. Your little boy could be sent back to his dear, sweet mommy."

Jarod's hand tightened on the phone—he heard the casing crack just a little. He knew Lyle would never make good on that promise despite how much they wanted him. If he turned himself in, they would be nothing more than a father-son pretending pair, and he'd probably never be allowed to see Luke. But the offer was on the table, tantalizing his mind with its false promises. He'd always doubt himself now, wondering if he could really end his son's suffering just by turning himself in as much as he knew it was unlikely. That was what Lyle wanted, and Jarod hated that it was working.

"Oh well," Lyle said dismissively, "I suppose we'll just have to work Luke harder. Maybe the real reason you were so important… was because you could give us him."

The dial tone sounded as the phone on the other end went dead. Releasing a frustrated yell, Jarod sent the phone flying—it shattered against the wall with a crash and Jarod breathed heavily, barely maintaining enough control not to rampage Nia's house.

The woman held herself back from going to him, taken aback by the animalistic rage etched in the gentle man's face. It wasn't enough that they'd taken their son, those bastards had to rub Jarod's nose in it. Torture his mind with their insidious words.

"Jarod…" she started softly.

Stiffly, the man dropped back onto the couch, fingers tapping the keys of his computer with a new vengeance.

"We have to get him out of there, Nia," he growled, not daring to look away from the laptop's screen.

"We will, Jarod," Nia assured him gently. "Just, please… don't give in to them."

Jarod glanced up briefly, smiling a thin, unconvincing smile before returning to his work.

* * *

"Sydney!" Jarod barked into the phone a day and a half later after uncovering no digital trace of his son's captivity.

"Jarod?" The psychiatrist's tone was calm and even, but there was an edge of worry to it. "Is everything alright?"

"Did you get my email?" Jarod asked irately—if he had, he hadn't responded, and neither had Miss Parker or Angelo.

"Mm… what email?" The man asked—Jarod could hear the rattling of a keyboard in the background.

"Never mind," Jarod muttered, glancing across at Nia with a frown. The woman wasn't watching him—she was slumped over a picture of Luke again, barely holding back tears. "I want to know if a boy was recently taken in to the Centre."

"A boy?" Sydney repeated, "Not that I'm aware of… Not anything out of the ordinary coming and going of test subjects, at least."

"You're sure?" Jarod pressed, "I think Lyle has him locked up somewhere."

"Funny you should mention Lyle," Sydney replied, "He's been unusually scarce lately. Doesn't even bat an eye when Miss Parker mentions you or—or the situation with their _father_. Whatever he's up to, it must be important."

Jarod barely kept his voice even, "What he's up to is my _son_."

For a long moment there was no reply, then, "Your _son_? My god, Jarod, why didn't you tell me? Never mind, I think I know why—what has Lyle got to do with your son?"

"He—" Jarod bit off the word, yanking his cell phone away from his ear as a deafening white noise suddenly flared to existence, interrupting the call. Scowling, he covered the earpiece and moved it closer again, waiting for the noise to pass.

"Sydney?" He prompted when the line was finally clear. "Sydney?" He asked again, receiving no response.

Barely resisting the urge to destroy another phone, Jarod set it carefully on the table, his face twisted in an angry scowl. They'd cut him off. They didn't want him to be able to get information from the inside. They wanted him to go after them—to follow the bread trail inside the Centre, so they could let their trap close in around him.

The worst part was that it was working—a noose slowly tightening around his neck. He couldn't stop until he'd tried everything; even a suicide mission into the Centre.

His laptop let off a cheerful chirp and he looked down—a friendly red mailbox was flashing on his screen, accompanied by the words: _You've got mail._

Opening the program, Jarod's eyes scanned the address line on the newest message in his inbox.

_Major Charles_

His lips curled in a grim smile. This wasn't over yet.


	3. Pretending

The Begotten

_R. Winters_

Disclaimer: I do not own Lyle, Raines, the Centre, or anything else easily recognizable from _The Pretender._

Sorry for the wait, here's chapter 3... Jarod's still scarce, but starting next chapter he'll be back in the foreground. I look forward to hearing your comments.

Chapter 3 – Pretending

The bright lights around Luke abruptly turned dim.

"Luke!" Dr. Melson snapped—the boy flinched, looking up at him with guilty confusion.

"What did I do wrong?" The boy asked miserably.

Dr. Melson sighed. "Luke, you're only telling me what _you_ think about the situation," the man lectured, "Remember, your job is to think like someone else. I want you to tell me what _he _thinks, what _he_ would do."

Luke frowned, "I don't get it. How can I know what _he's_ thinking?"

"You _pretend_, Luke," Dr. Melson said with exasperation. "I have given you plenty of information about him and the situation. Now you need to stop thinking like yourself and get into his head."

"It's too hard," Luke complained.

"It isn't too hard for you," the man assured him. "Let's try it again. From the top. This is a simple simulation, Luke." He beckoned him over, out of the dim room, where a table sat, waiting.

Luke walked over, and took the seat he knew was his.

Reaching for the single file on the table, Dr. Melson flicked it open to the first page. He picked up the large, 4x6 inch photographed face of a man; black hair, light beard, kind, somber eyes.

"Who is this, Luke?" The man demanded, at the edge of his patience.

Luke looked at him uncertainly, then back at the picture. "Harold Richards."

Dr. Melson shook the photograph at him, frowning. "This is _you_, Luke," he said firmly, "Keep your mind in the game. I want you to _become_ Harold Richards."

Hesitantly, Luke nodded.

"Tell me about your family," Dr. Melson said.

Luke hesitated again, looking at the picture. "I have two children," he said at length, feeling awkward, "Cindy, she's six, and Charles is four." He hesitated, looking at the man, "Do I have a wife?"

The doctor shook his head, "Your wife has been dead for two years. The file said he is a widower—that's what it means."

Luke nodded his understanding. "She died from cancer, didn't she?"

"That's right," Dr. Melson confirmed. "Tell me what you do for a living."

Luke looked at the photo again, frowning. "I own a small store—Arthur's Alcove," he smiled slightly, imagining the cheerful looking store. "It's a bookstore; been in the family for three generations." His smile vanished. "But it hasn't been doing well lately.'

Dr. Melson nodded, "Why did you burn the store?"

Luke hesitated.

Motioning to the other side of the partitioned room—the side that had been set up to imitate the burnt out shell of _Arthur's Alcove_—Dr. Melson invited the boy to explore the simulation again. "Walk through it slowly. Tell me what Harold—what _you_ were thinking."

Chewing his lower lip, Luke nodded, standing and crossing over to the other room. It was a little scary—pretending to be someone he wasn't. He'd played pretend when he was with his mom, of course, but he'd never pretended to be _someone else_. He'd only pretended to be himself—what he wanted to be. Luke the forest ranger—or pirate—or astronaut—whatever he wanted to be on any given day.

It wasn't as hard as he thought it should be, pretending he was someone he wasn't. Someone who wasn't at all like him. The ease of the transition scared him; it was like he wasn't even himself anymore. The emotions he felt and the thoughts that seeped into his mind were things that were foreign to him, but came as naturally as water dripping into a bucket.

Luke took a deep breath and envisioned the man in the picture in his mind's eye. Harold Richards. He was Harold Richards while he was in this room. Harry. He looked around the store, thoughts and emotions flashing through his mind. Desperation. Hopelessness. Fear. Love.

"What are you thinking, Luke?" Dr. Melson prompted.

For an instant the foreign feelings vanished and Luke frowned, broken from his… Pretend. He shook his head and remembered the face again. It was easier to slip back into that skin a second time.

"I'm afraid," he told the doctor, "Desperate. I don't want to hurt anyone, but this is the last thing I can do."

"Why?" Dr. Melson pressed, "Why do you have to do this? You love this store, don't you? It was your father's and your grandfather's."

Luke scowled at him, "My father and grandfather aren't here anymore. My children are."

Dr. Melson said nothing, but Luke continued without prompting, moving towards the back of the store, where the charred remains of the desk stood.

"Ever since Trisha died, it's been hard to make ends meet," Luke explained, "The store doesn't bring in enough revenue… I've been pulling from our savings for years. Now it's gone. There's no more money, but I can't lose my children. This is the only thing I can do."

He moved around the counter—in his mind's eye it was Harry, the six foot, three inch man with curly black hair and a beard. He stooped down, as though to pull his supplies from under the counter. There was nothing there, but he could picture the flare box he knew Harold would have found.

"I've been planning it for months," he confided, "But I didn't have the nerve to go through with it. Until now."

"What changed your mind?" Dr. Melson questioned from the shadows beyond his store.

Luke glanced in his direction, "I told you. Desperation. We're out of money. Cindy and Charles are hungry. The mortgage is past due and collection agencies are breathing down my neck. I have to do this now."

The man said nothing. Luke continued his work.

"I have to make it look like an accident," he said, "I know the insurance company will send people to investigate. The electrical system is old, so it won't seem strange that it might malfunction." He stooped down by the outlet behind the desk.

"I'm nervous. I really don't want to hurt anyone. I don't want to become a criminal, but I have no other choice." He struck the invisible instrument in his hand, watching as the flames took hold around the outlet, catching on old wood and dry paint.

Standing, he backed away from the flames, shoulders drooping and tears in his eyes. "I know it was wrong… but I _had_ to do it. For my children."

Dr. Melson watched silently for a moment, and Luke stared at the flames in his mind as they spread, black smoke rising into the air. Slowly, he moved towards the employee's entrance in the back. He grabbed the knob and turned it, pushing against the door—it didn't budge.

Eyes wide, Luke tried again, pushing harder. The flames would grow quickly in this old of a building—the smoke would suffocate him if he didn't get out. And if he went out the front, everything would be ruined. He slammed his body against the door in a frustrated attempt to get it to open.

"I—I can't get out!" He shouted in alarm, throwing himself against the door again, fear pounding in his ears. "I left this door unlocked—why won't it open? I can't get out!"

"Luke!" Dr. Melson interrupted loudly.

Luke blinked, starting in surprise. He looked around—the flames were gone. Of course they were; there had never really been any flames.

Breathing heavily, Luke collapsed on the floor, hugging his knees to his chest and burying his face in them, crying as the adrenaline that had filled him a moment before slowly drained out of him but the fear didn't completely subside.

"Luke," Dr. Melson said again, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Rubbing his eyes against his arms, Luke looked up. The lights had all dimmed again. The room looked more foreboding than it had that morning.

The doctor smiled tightly. "You did well."

Luke shook his head, burying his face again. "I don't like this. I don't want to do this anymore."

Dr. Melson frowned and kneeled down beside the boy. "But, Luke, you have to. You have a gift—not everyone can do things like this, think the way that you do. Mr. Richards almost got away with what he did; he would have if it wasn't for the simulations of people like you. You can help make the world right again."

"I don't like being someone else," Luke said quietly, "I just want to be me. I'll look at your pictures if you want, but can't I just be me?" He looked up, watery brown eyes imploring.

Dr. Melson smiled. "Of course, Luke. We won't do another one of these for a few days, at least. We'll work on your observational and technical skills some more."

"I don't want to do it again _ever_," Luke interrupted irritably.

"But, Luke, it's an important job," Dr. Melson insisted, "I'm sure after a few days you'll feel better. It'll get easier to pull yourself out as you practice."

"I don't want to practice," Luke muttered.

"You don't want to help your father anymore?" Dr. Melson pressed. He sighed, shaking his head as he stood. "I'm sure Mr... I'm sure Jarod will be disappointed to hear that."

"…" Luke hesitated, "Does daddy do things like this?"

Dr. Melson nodded quickly, smiling again. "Oh, certainly. Your father is one of our best pretenders, Luke. But I have a feeling that with time, you could become even better."

Luke hesitated again. Reluctantly, he asked, "This is really important? This is really what daddy wants me to do?"

Dr. Melson nodded again. "That's right, Luke. You're doing important work. Your father will be proud of how well you did today." He was silent for a moment before prompting, "We'll try it again after you have a few days to rest."

Slowly, Luke nodded. "Okay."

* * *

Raines stared at the screen as the DSA rolled, displaying Luke's performance in his first real simulation. His breath wheezed and Lyle tried not to let his irritation show on his face. Finally, he reached out, stopping the player as Dr. Melson accompanied Luke out of the room.

"He's more resistant to the process than I expected," Raines mused.

"Dr. Melson believes he's slightly more empathic than Jarod," Lyle said, "His mind buries itself deeper into the mind of the subject of his pretend. It must be frightening for a young boy."

"Hmn," Raines gave a grunt of disinterest. "I want to try a project with the boy. Patrick's conclusion needs to be tested. This is what we were trying to create with Ethan—but he was too empathic. If the two of you are right, Luke may be a natural balance between the two."

"Dr. Melson doesn't believe it is wise to force Luke into another simulation until he's had some time to recover from the last one," Lyle said. "Too much too soon, he says, could be damaging to the boy's psyche."

"I'll go easy on him," Raines said dryly, straightening and wheeling his oxygen tank towards the door. He paused, looking back at Lyle. "Well?" He asked expectantly, "Aren't you going to introduce me to your _son_?"

Lyle scowled at him, standing to join him. He forced a smile as he passed him at the door, looking back. "Of course, Mr. Raines."

* * *

Luke sat at the desk of his room—a small, depressingly bleak rectangle of space with an uncomfortably hard bed, a small desk and lamp, and a low sink. He tried to ignore the sounds coming from the air vent near the ceiling, and kept his eyes on the book Dr. Melson had given him—another long, dry text on human psychology.

He wanted to go home. He wanted to play games with Miss Sherrie and the other kids at daycare, even if they were stupid. He wanted to go hiking with his mother over the weekend, even if she wouldn't let him bait his own hooks or use a real knife or start the fire himself.

The little boy's eyes swelled with tears at the thought of his mother. He'd never see her again—she was dead. It was why he was living with his daddy.

Luke dropped the pretense of reading out of the textbook, setting it back on the desk as he buried his head in his arms. This wasn't what it was supposed to look like. When his father came home, they were all supposed to live together, happily. They were supposed to be a family. And Luke would show him that he already knew how to tie six types of knots, and his father would teach him to hunt, and he'd actually let him hold the gun, and at the daycare picnic, he'd show off both his parents to all of the other kids.

The door opened, Luke jumped a little in surprise. The door _never_ opened after he'd been put to bed for the night. When his gaze landed on his father, he was quick to rub his eyes dry, slipping from the chair to his feet.

"Daddy!" He was already hurrying over to the man when his father stepped further inside, revealing a second man behind him. Luke stopped short, wide brown eyes staring at the stranger.

He was slightly hunched and bald, with deep wrinkles and a tube running from his nose to a large canister on wheels that he dragged with one hand. His loud, mechanical wheezing was the only sound in the room for several long seconds.

"Luke, I want you to meet a friend of mine," Lyle said, smiling at the boy's transparent reaction. "This is Mr. Raines."

Luke managed to tear his eyes away from the sickly looking old man and look at his father incredulously. He edged carefully towards Lyle, skirting the area in front of the door where Raines stood. Safe, he clutched at the man's hand.

"Aren't you going to say hello?" Lyle prompted, "Don't be rude, Luke."

Luke's cheeks flushed red and he looked up at his father uncertainly one more time before turning to look at the creepy man. "H-hello," he muttered shyly.

"Hello, Luke," Mr. Raines's voice was a slow, breathy drawl, his tone low and rough and enough to send shivers down the boy's spine. "I've heard a lot about you."

Luke looked at his father again, uncertain.

"Mr. Raines is working on an important project," Lyle explained, "We thought you might be able to help."

Luke grimaced, "You mean… a simulation, like with Dr. Melson?"

Lyle nodded, "You did very well."

"Dr. Melson said I wouldn't have to do anymore for a few days, at least!" Luke exclaimed, wide-eyed.

"Shh," Lyle crouched down, gently taking the boy in his arms. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to do, Luke."

Luke buried his face in his father's shirt, and his next words were mumbled. "I don't want to do it, daddy."

"Then you don't have to," Lyle assured him, sighing, "I'm sure… we'll find a way to make it work without you."

"The Triumvirate won't be pleased," Raines said sharply.

Luke sniffed, relaxing a little. "What's that?" He asked softly, tilting his face up towards his father.

Lyle grimaced, "They're the people even higher up in the chain of command than I am around here."

Luke looked away guiltily, "They'll be angry with you if I don't do Mr. Raines's project…?"

"Very," Lyle confirmed, "But it's okay, sport. I don't want you to feel forced."

"The Triumvirate has gotten rid of better men than you, Jarod, for failing less than this," Raines added dangerously.

Luke looked cautiously between the two men. He sighed, dropping his forehead against his father's shoulder. "I'll do it, daddy," he whispered, trembling slightly with the decision.

Lyle's embrace tightened—he had to force himself not to tense his arms so much as to hurt the boy, a grin forming on his lips. They'd hit the gold with this kid. "Are you sure, Luke?" He asked, concern thick in his voice.

Luke nodded vaguely against him. "I don't want you to get into trouble…"

Lyle finally pulled back, and his smile had softened to something a little more appropriate for the situation. "Thank you, Luke. I'm sure you'll do well."

"Luke," Mr. Raines wheezed expectantly. The boy looked up at him, eyes wide and frightened again. "Let's go."

"Now?" The little boy squeaked in alarm. He looked at his father desperately, "Come with?"

"I'm afraid I can't," Lyle excused, "Not this early. I don't want to affect your performance."

Luke tensed, edging closer to his father.

"You'll be fine," Lyle assured him, "Mr. Raines will take good care of you. He's a good man—I trust him with my life." He thought he could almost convince himself with that line.

Luke swallowed nervously, but reluctantly nodded, and left his father as Raines beckoned for him to follow. The boy twisted, staring back at Lyle until the door shut between them.

* * *

The face of a man flashed onto the wall—a severe looking mug under light brown eyes and darker hair. Luke looked at him uncertainly, glancing at Raines—the old man was in shadow, but he could see his silhouette easily, a strange conglomeration of man and machine.

"This man has recently lost something very important to him," Raines explained, staring back at the boy, "Something he didn't even know he had until it was gone."

Luke looked up at him again, staring at the deep, soulful eyes. "He seems very sad," he said awkwardly.

The picture flashed—the same man, except his hair was a bit longer. The background around him was blurred, but his face was sharp and clear, anguish written in every fiber. Then there was another—and this time he looked angry, so angry that it scared Luke. The boy looked away again, nervous.

"I want to know how far he will go to get back what he believes is his," Raines stated boldly.

Luke didn't look up at the picture again. "What did he lose?"

"That isn't your concern," Raines stated coldly, "It's enough for you to know it was very important to him. Of course, his feelings are unjustified—this thing never belonged to him in the first place."

"… It wasn't money," Luke glanced up at the angry face again.

There was a thump—Luke looked back at Raines. The old man was standing beside the small round table he'd sat at with Dr. Melson.

"This file contains all of the information you need to know," Raines stated, "Including a psychological profile and details on his past transgressions. Take your time reading it over, tomorrow we'll start the SIM."

Luke stared solemnly at the folder he couldn't quite see in the shadows, dread coiled inside of him. He didn't want to do it again—but if he didn't, his father would be in trouble. He couldn't let that happen.

Reluctantly, the boy stood, walking across to the table. Behind him, the bright light dimmed and the regular ceiling lights flickered to life, casting a soft, steady glow around the room.

Glancing at Raines one last time, Luke slid into his chair at the table and slid the folder towards himself, opening to the first page.

* * *

Luke paced back and forth the length of the small, lighted SIM room. Agitatedly, he picked up a mock phone, then slammed it back down. Spinning around, he faced the shadowy form beyond the floor.

"I can't sit and do nothing!" He snapped before swirling and stalking in the other direction, feeling like a wild tiger trapped in a cage. "I need to find…!" The emotions were so clear inside of him, but the object of his search remained elusive.

With a soft growl, he collapsed into the sofa in front of the coffee table, tapping furiously on the keys on his laptop—the screen was black, the computer was nothing more than a shell.

"How do you feel?" Raines asked from the shadows.

Luke glanced at him, eyes narrowed. "How do you _think_ I feel?" He demanded loudly, "I'm angry! I _hate_ them! They took… I won't stop at anything!"

He lurched to his feet and started pacing again. "I've thought of a thousand ways to stage a rescue, but they're all so risky. Too risky—if anything went wrong…"

He turned to look at the man watching, a second emotion encroaching on the first. "I'm afraid," he admitted, "I'm terrified at the thought of something going wrong. Something always goes wrong—_everything's_ wrong already! But I have to do something!"

"How far will you go?" Raines asked, a morbid curiosity in his tone. "Will you hurt someone?"

"_Yes_," Luke's words are low and dangerous, almost a growl as he hits the wall with his fist, resting a hot forehead against his arm.

"Will you _kill_ someone?" Raines asked.

"Yes!" Luke snapped, glaring back at him without moving, "Anything! Losing isn't an option I can take!"

"What about a trade?" Raines questioned, quietly, "Will you trade your life for this?"

Luke stared straight back into the man's eyes, although with the shadows encompassing him, he couldn't even see his face. "_Anything,_" he said again, more forcefully. "I'll do _anything_ to get him back."

A few silent seconds passed, Raines staring wide-eyed at the disturbed boy in front of him, then he abruptly gave the orders and the lights were evened out again.

"Luke," he said forcefully, wheeling his oxygen tank across the room towards the boy.

Luke continued to glare, and Raines reached out, slapping him across the face. "Snap out of it, boy!"

Slowly, Luke's hand rose to his stinging cheek, and then the anger and the clinging sorrow melted off of him, while the fear he'd felt morphed back into something slightly more familiar. Tears sprang to the boy's eyes and he slid down the wall, drawing his knees to his chest and clutching them.

He looked up at the old man, brown eyes wide and afraid. "Mr. Raines, who is that man?"

"Someone very dangerous," Raines said vaguely. "Come on; let's get you back to your room. Are you hungry?"

Shaking his head, Luke rose to follow, shivering at the phantom feelings still nagging at the edge of his consciousness.

"Mr. Raines…?" He started nervously, glancing around the barren hallway as the man led him from the simulation rooms.

"What is it?" Raines asked tersely, not even looking down.

"… I don't want to pretend to be him again," Luke admitted timidly. He didn't want to pretend to be anyone—but that man least of all. Even when he'd been afraid that Harry had locked himself inside a burning building, it still hadn't matched the deep, painful emotions that ran through the man who had lost something.

Raines glanced down at him at last, one eyebrow raised in surprise. He looked away again, intrigued, but replied, "I don't think that will be an issue. I have another project I want you to work on tomorrow—Dr. Melson will tell you about it."

"Again!" Luke exclaimed, stopping dead in his tracks. "But—but I'm supposed to get a break! Please, I don't want to do another one tomorrow! I—I can't!"

Raines stopped, looking back at him with a frown. "You can and you will," he said coldly, "If that is what you're told to do. Do you want to disappoint your father?"

Luke's desperate expression hadn't changed, but he numbly shook his head. He didn't want to disappoint him—but he couldn't do another SIM, not so soon after he'd finished the last one! He still wasn't completely sure he wasn't the one looking for something he desperately needed to find.

Raines turned forward again, his back to Luke. "The project I want you to work on isn't another simulation, Luke, so you don't have to be worried," he said condescendingly. "I want you to practice looking at things from every angle. We'll start with some simple security system demos—see if you can find weaknesses. Dr. Melson will explain it more fully tomorrow."

Luke relaxed a little, slowly moving to follow after him, heart rate gradually returning to its normal pattern. "So I can be me," he sighed.

Raines's lips quirked slightly towards a smirk. "Yes, Luke. You can be… you."


	4. Blue Cove

The Begotten

_R. Winters_

Disclaimer: I do not own anything belonging to _the_ _Pretender_.

Here's the next chapter. Lots of Jarod, which is always fun. I hope you like it!

By the way, my stories are going on a major break because I'm going to be without internet for the next three months, at least. (Oh, the fun of OCS.) Chapter 5 probably won't be up until July at the earliest. Could be later if _bad-enough_ turns to _worse_ and I get held back. But the next chapter is mostly finished—just needs to be edited—so as soon as I've got my computer and internet access back, it shouldn't take long to get up.

Chapter 4 – Blue Cove

"Dad," Jarod sighed as he caught sight of the older man on his computer screen, "Tell me you have good news."

His father grimaced, glancing at someone off-screen. He looked at the webcam again, "Sorry, son, I really wish that I could."

Jarod's fist slammed down on the table next to the laptop with frustration. "Damn it!"

"Jarod—shh, it's okay," Nia approached from behind him, a soothing hand on his shoulder. The woman was stronger than he'd thought when he first saw her again—now that she had a purpose, she was up and kicking. "You'll find him, I know you will."

On the other side of the country, Major Charles looked between the two, trying not to see the same, worried parents he and Margaret had been thirty years before. "Nia's right, son. We'll find him."

The sound that came out of Jarod's throat was something between a whine and a sob. "It's not that. I know where he is—I've always known. I just didn't want to believe it." His fist curled in on itself more tightly, but he couldn't feel the pain of his nails against his palm. "I should've gone there straight away."

"We still don't know Luke is in Delaware," Major Charles said carefully, "What was that other place you had on your list?"

"He's in Delaware," Jarod said firmly, voice flat.

"You said it yourself," the older man reminded him, "Sydney would have told you if that was the case."

"I haven't been able to get in contact with Sydney since we were cut off," Jarod replied grimly, "Or Miss Parker and Mr. Broots. They don't want me to have contact with anyone who would help me at Blue Cove, which means he must be there."

"Then we'll get him out," Major Charles promised. "Look, you don't have to do this alone, remember? You've got me and your sister, Nia… we can figure this out, right? The Centre doesn't have a chance if we work together."

Jarod didn't respond for a long moment, and when he did, his voice was flat and toneless again. "I'll talk with you later, dad," he muttered, hitting the button to deactivate the webcam on his side.

"Your father's right, Jarod," Nia assured him, drawing the tense man into her soothing embrace, "We'll find him. I'm sure you'll think of something."

Jarod sighed, allowing himself to relax a little and enjoy the woman's ministrations. "I'm so sorry," he muttered, moving without resistance as she led him to the bed. "We should have gone to Blue Cove first. They've had him for almost two months now—it's my fault."

"Shh… it isn't your fault, Jarod," Nia soothed, "Without you, he would be gone forever. If it's anyone's fault, it's mine. I should have realized they'd be after him."

Jarod smiled slightly, a wry quirking of his lips as he glanced at the woman. "You knew me for barely a week, you couldn't have understood how dangerous the Centre really was."

"I knew they were dangerous enough to scare you," Nia told him, "And that should have been all I needed to know. Let's get some sleep—we'll find a plane to Delaware in the morning." She eased him to lie back on the bed.

"Mm…" Jarod stared up at the spider like cracks lining the ceiling of their hotel room. "Nia… I think you should go back to Toluca."

Beside him, the woman shot up in bed, "What!"

Jarod grimaced and resolutely turned his gaze away from hers. "This is going to be dangerous," he explained desperately, "The security systems at the Oregon and California branches are like child's play compared to Blue Cove."

"I'm not going to let you do it alone, Jarod," Nia said firmly.

Jarod shook his head insistently and finally looked at her. "Trust me, Nia; I helped design the security systems the Centre uses at Blue Cove. A strike force would never be able to break in there—especially not one made up of half a dozen people. We don't stand a chance if we go together, but…"

Nia frowned at him, following his line of thought, "But if you went alone… maybe with just one other person?"

"Then I might be able to make it," Jarod said, "I've done it before. It… shouldn't be too dangerous if I go alone."

"If it was so easy, you would have tried that weeks ago," Nia said shrewdly.

Jarod sighed and shook his head again, slowly. "I don't think it will be that easy," he admitted glumly, "The last time…" His voice broke as images of car batteries and Lyle's smiling face flickered through his mind. Forcing his thoughts back to the present, he continued, "The last time I was there… the security hole I'd created had been filled and I wasn't able to escape while inside the Centre."

Nia frowned at him, "Then how do you expect to get Luke out?"

"… Hopefully, the designers only plugged up the leak on my end," he said, "With luck… I'll still be able to get in. I can find a different way around the inside if I have to."

"You don't sound too sure of yourself," Nia pointed out warily.

Jarod smiled tiredly, "I'm not. But we don't have another choice—we have to try this. Please, Nia, go back to Toluca. I need to know you're safe—that there's someone out here that I can send Luke back to if things don't go quite as planned."

"Quite as planned?" Nia repeated incredulously, "What do you think is going to happen?"

Jarod shrugged, recalling Lyle's words when he'd called Nia's cabin. He didn't trust the bastard to keep his word, but he was running out of choices. If he could just get them to let him see Luke; if he could find out where they were keeping his son… maybe he could think of a way out. It was a desperate hope, but something he had to hold on to because he couldn't leave Luke in their clutches.

* * *

Luke stared at the thin lines mapping out the layout of a large complex on wide sheets of paper. He frowned, spinning in his seat to tap at the keys of a computer, adjusting the view on a 3D viewing program, then turned back to the papers with a red pencil, drawing a wide circle with a large 'X' through it.

Shifting the papers around a little, he turned to consult the computer again. The door opened, and Luke's head snapped up. He smiled.

"Daddy," he resisted the urge to run to the man, aware that he was already making his way across the room to him and it always seemed to annoy people when he did.

"How is it coming?" Lyle asked, leaning one arm on the back of the boy's chair while the other landed on Luke's scrawny shoulder.

"The biggest security leak is in the air ducts," the boy stated.

"We need air ducts," Lyle said. "This complex," he tapped the computer monitor, "is almost completely buried underground."

Luke nodded, "There are just a few places where they need to be blocked with bars. Here," he jabbed a finger at the red mark on the papers in front of him and shuffled to another, "Here," he continued shuffling through to a third paper, "And here. The constriction to airflow will still be within acceptable standards, and no one could get in or out through them."

He frowned, turning to tap a command into the computer—the 3D image of the facility zoomed out and green, blinking dots appeared. "Also, if you added cameras in these locations, fed to a separate bunker, then it would be impossible for people to pass into the rooms containing sensitive information on these floors without raising alarms."

Lyle looked over his work thoughtfully, then grinned, clapping the boy on his shoulder. "That's good work, Luke," he praised amiably, "I'm going to bring these results forward—if you think of anything else, tell Dr. Melson." He was already turning, striding quickly towards the door; Luke stood, looking after him longingly.

"Daddy!" The little boy cried out in dismay—Lyle paused, looking back at him.

"What is it?" He asked, managing to keep most of the impatience from his tone.

Luke hesitated, fidgeting a moment before replying. "Can we… play catch, daddy?"

The man looked at him blankly, "Catch?"

"Mommy taught me," Luke said softly, looking at the floor with cheeks burning red, "But daddies are supposed to play catch."

Lyle sighed, "Luke, you know that I'm busy…"

"But I want to do something together!" Luke insisted, "Maybe you can take a vacation—we can go hiking! I like hiking. I can catch a fish, you know, but mommy never let me gut them."

The man was about to wave off the suggestion when he paused, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. A camping trip would go a long way to building an unbreakable bond between him and the brat, and he'd always liked the great outdoors. He smiled slightly, shoulders slumping in a more relaxed posture. "You know, that's not a bad idea, Luke," he offered, "I'll see what I can do. A camping trip would be fun—just the two of us."

Luke grinned, his eyes lighting up along with the rest of his expression. "Yeah! It'll be great, daddy!"

The man nodded, turning again. "You keep working hard until then, Luke," he directed over his shoulder.

"I will, daddy!" The little boy promised, smiling as he settled back to work at his table.

* * *

"Good morning, Luke."

The four-year-old looked up in surprise, eyes wide as the old man wheeled his oxygen tank into his doorway. He shrank back slightly in his seat. "Good morning, Mr. Raines," he replied meekly.

"Are you done with your breakfast?" The old man prompted.

Luke glanced at his mostly empty breakfast bowl—more of the green glop he was given three times a day. It tasted horrible, but he was getting used to it. It didn't make him gag anymore, at least. He nodded.

"Then come with me," Raines demanded, turning and moving out of the room without waiting for a reply.

Luke suddenly felt a compulsion to finish his breakfast if it would put off his time with Mr. Raines. Despite the number of times he'd reminded himself that he worked with his father and wouldn't hurt him, he simply didn't like the creepy old man. Regardless, he reluctantly slipped out of the chair and followed after the man. His father might be upset if he refused to go with him—and then their camping trip might be canceled.

"Do you remember the man I showed you last time we met?" Raines asked as they walked down the hall towards Luke's SIM lab.

Luke nodded, watching him carefully with wide eyes, "You said I wouldn't have to be him again."

"This is very important," Raines said firmly, "The man has been searching for what he lost… just like you said that he would. We need to know where he will look next."

"I don't like being him," Luke grumbled unhappily.

Raines ignored him, opening the door to the SIM lab and ushering the boy inside before him. Luke looked around the room unhappily—on the wall was a large projection of a map of the United States. There were no state lines, like he was used to seeing, but instead there were bold squares marked with large, capital letters; some were red, some green, and others yellow.

"These are the locations of possible interest to that man," Raines explained calmly, "The red buildings are places he has already been; off shoots of the main body he believes is responsible for taking what was never his."

Luke wasn't looking at the map; instead he was examining the tabletop very carefully. He didn't want to become that man again—with his strong feelings of loss, desperation, sorrow, and anger.

"Luke," Raines snapped, scowling at the boy, "This is important!"

"I don't want to be him again," Luke muttered unhappily, but reluctantly looked up, studying the map again.

"You may not need to be him," Raines said irately, "Pay attention. Perhaps you can solve the problem without pretending today. The red buildings are places he has been sighted—the green buildings are places he either doesn't know about or we are certain he will not be visiting. The yellow indicates places he may yet be searching."

The large yellow rectangle marked with a letter 'A' began flashing. "What I want to know is when he will come for the head of the dragon."

Luke frowned in confusion, moving closer to the map, "You mean, this is the main part of the people he thinks took what was his?"

"Yes," Raines confirmed.

Luke's frown twitched deeper, "Why hasn't he gone there already?"

"Because it is a very dangerous and powerful place," Raines supplied, "He's afraid of it."

For an instant, Luke felt a flash of the man's fear and anger; he recoiled from it quickly, averting his eyes and reciting a rhyme he had learned from Dr. Melson in his head. According to his psychology books, the simple, childish tune helped focus his mind and bring him back to himself. Dr. Melson expressed hopes that it would help him remove himself from his pretends once they were completed.

"When… when did he go to the other places?" Luke asked after a moment, looking at the table again, "And in what order…?"

There was a flash of light as the image shifted and Raines explained, "This is a list of his actions—beginning from a little over two months ago. Luke," he said firmly upon noticing the boy wasn't looking.

Quickly, the four-year-old's light brown eyes flickered up, then lingered, examining the dates and locations. He frowned, concentrating. There didn't appear to be any sort of pattern, and certainly nothing to indicate he was moving any closer to Delaware.

But he was desperate, Luke remembered, and he knew that was where it was—what he wanted. It was in Delaware, he had to go there. He shook the thoughts from his head and started to pace, the foreign consciousness creeping in on his own despite his attempts to keep it at bay.

Raines watched him silently through cold, watery blue eyes.

"I don't know," Luke said, frustration on the edge of his tone as he resisted the urge to slip into the man's mind. "It doesn't make sense. Why is he afraid of it?" The apprehension tickling at his senses whispered the answer just outside of his grasp—all he would have to do is pretend, and he'd be able to figure it out.

"He's been there before," Raines said, "And he ran away from his responsibilities."

Luke's pacing became a little more rigid, pace quickening with impatience.

Raines watched him resist the urge to sink into the simulation thoughtfully. "You know… I shouldn't be telling you this," he paused, watching as the boy abruptly stopped, staring at him expectantly. The old man smiled. "Your _father_ was thinking of taking you out soon—a sort of father-son trip, I understand."

The boy's face lit up immediately, eyes brightening and an eager smile crossing his lips. "Really? Daddy and I are really going?"

"_After_ you determine when this man will attempt to break into Site A," Raines wheezed.

Abruptly, Luke's expression fell. "Oh." He looked at the projection on the wall—it had shifted again, showing an image of the man, holding a gun and breaking down a door, the subtitle at the bottom indicated that he was at Site H.

Luke felt a shiver of fear and took a deep breath. He mouthed the words of the rhyme Dr. Melson had taught him, allowing the soothing rhythm to calm him a little. And then he pretended.

* * *

Jarod ducked through the edges of the cornfield, crouching low, and looked around. There was no one in sight on the dark, gently sloping hill. Still, he hesitated, gathering himself. He could do this—he'd done it a handful of times before.

Taking several deep breaths, he calmed the heart that was hammering in his chest. Then he ran, keeping low to the ground until he reached the main release shaft of the Centre's vent system.

He grabbed the metal cage covering it and pulled—it didn't budge and his muscles strained, jerking in protest. Scowling, he bent down to examine the surface for fixtures. He cursed when he realized it had been welded—and by the shiny flak still around the edges of the opening, it had been done recently.

How had they found out about this? They'd known he was using air vents, but the last he'd heard they hadn't found the place he'd been exiting and entering from. Then again, even Angelo had been strangely silent for the last three months. He'd been unable to get in touch with anyone through his usual means.

Still, he had to get in somehow.

Silently, the man retreated from the ventilation shaft, disappearing back into the relative safety the cornfield provided. There was no way he'd be able to break through the welding without alerting someone to his presence, which only left one viable option.

He'd have to walk in the front doors—like he'd done once before. If he could capture someone of influence, he might be able to manage it again.

Jarod cringed; it would be risky. Much more risky than it had been before. Mr. Parker had been the perfect hostage. He'd held enough power at the Centre that the Triumvirate wanted to keep him, and as Miss Parker's father, he'd known she would agree to anything for his safe return. The question now was who remained at the Centre that would have that same unique pull.

He could take Mr. Raines, except that the man practically lived in the Centre, himself. He knew the man had a cabin, across the river, but he also knew that he rarely used it. As for his apartment, Jarod was under the understanding that the lease had fallen out early in October last year, around the same time he'd been made Chairman. Mr. Raines wasn't even putting up a pretense of living outside, anymore, so Jarod's chances of catching him out and unawares was extremely unlikely.

Then there was Lyle. Jarod's lip curled at the thought of terrorizing him for a while. If it was Lyle, he might not even want to give him back. Of course, if it was Lyle, there was a good chance that no one would want him back in the first place. Jarod was doubtfully that Raines would let him go with the promise of getting his sociopathic son back in return, and he was almost certain Miss Parker would celebrate his disappearance rather than worry about him.

Jarod wasn't sure capturing Miss Parker herself would yield any better results. Certainly the woman held a special place in Mr. Parker's heart, but Raines was a cold man and didn't seem to have any paternal instincts. Lyle would probably pull a gun on Parker himself, one day, and Jarod doubted he would mind if he was the one to do it, instead.

The man stopped, unlocking his car, hidden in against the very edge of the field. He slipped inside and groaned, dropping his forehead on the steering wheel. This was going to be very difficult. It seemed that ever since Mr. Parker had disappeared, everyone at the Centre had become expendable.

Jarod never imagined he'd actually _miss_ the calculating, conniving Mr. Parker.

There was no way he could go through with this short of turning himself in. Not without help, at least.

Sighing, he straightened in his seat and turned the key in the ignition. The engine came to life with a muted roar and he pulled back onto the road.

* * *

Sydney woke with a start at the feeling of a hand shaking his shoulder. For a moment he panicked, struggling against the strong hands as a second joined the first, restraining him. His mind swam with disorientation—he was a child again, being dragged away from his parents in the middle of a concentration camp.

"Sydney! Sydney!" The voice that repeated his name grew increasingly more insistent and suddenly the man snapped out of it. He peered through the darkness and reached for his light, flicking it on.

"Jarod?" He asked in surprise, hand quickly groping for his glasses—even without them he could recognize his protégé. "My god, what are you doing here?"

Jarod's face was grim. He stepped back from the bed, further into the shadows. "I need to get into the Centre."

The old man stared at him in confusion, "The Centre… Not to sound ungrateful, Jarod—I'm thrilled to see you, really—but what does that have to do with me?"

The younger man shifted uncomfortably. "Apparently Centre security has gone up a notch. They've sealed up my usual entrance—I need your help, Sydney."

His final words were desperate and they caused the man to do a double take. Rarely had he heard that tone from Jarod. In the past, it might have meant that a particular SIM was too hard on his psyche, and more recently it would have indicated that the escaped pretender had been cornered, unable to see a way to maintain his freedom. Even still, he'd never heard such a passionate desperation from the young man.

"Please, Sydney," Jarod was talking again, clearly taking the man's stunned silence the wrong way. "You owe me this. Help me out and we'll call it even. Everything you've taken away from me, you can make up for it all with this one thing."

"It's not that I don't want to help, Jarod," Sydney said quickly, "I'm just finding it difficult to understand what you need." He chuckled awkwardly and looked around for his clock, "You _did_ wake me up at—three in the morning."

Jarod rolled his eyes, "I apologize for not coming at a more convenient time, but not all of us have the luxury of respecting basic courtesies. You remember when I called you last time?"

"Yes, of course," Sydney said, struggling to remember just that. "We were cut off. I tried to call you back, but the number didn't work." It hadn't been surprising. With Jarod it was always 'I'll call you' not the other way around. "You didn't respond to my emails, either."

"Because I never received them," Jarod said grimly, "Someone has locked me out of the Centre—I haven't been able to get a hold of anyone on the inside. Not even—" he cut himself short of selling Angelo out. To distract the psychologist from his half-finished sentence, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the small photograph he'd brought with him, turning it to show the man.

Sydney took it in his old, weathered hands, and peered down at the smiling boy through his glasses. "Who is he, Jarod?" He questioned, looking up.

"His name is Lucas," Jarod replied, then corrected himself, "Luke. He's my son."

Sydney did a double take, staring at the photograph and taking in the little similarities—the color of the boy's eyes and the line of his young jaw. There was much of young Jarod inside of him, but he'd obviously inherited a number of traits—including skin and hair color—from his mother. "My god," he heard himself whispering in amazement, pride swelling inside of him for this boy he had never met. He wondered, vaguely, if this was what a grandparent felt the first time they held their child's infant in their arms.

"He's beautiful, Jarod," the man offered at last, looking up.

"He's missing, Sydney," Jarod responded without missing a beat.

Sydney's eyes narrowed and he looked at the picture again, feeling dread building inside of him. "You said something about Lyle on the phone."

"It was that bastard that took him," the ferocious hatred in Jarod's voice caused Sydney to look up in surprise. In all the years that he'd known him—in all the years that the young man had been on the run from the Centre—he'd never heard such complete blackness in his voice. Not even after Lyle had murdered his brother. He swallowed, suddenly feeling wary, as he never had before around the younger man.

"Jarod," he started, only to fall silent when he realized there was little he could say.

"Have you seen him?" Jarod asked, the words tight and forced.

"I'm afraid I haven't," Sydney replied, genuinely sorry. "I wish I could offer you some news, but if… Lucas is at the Centre, then Lyle and Raines have been keeping it quiet."

"There is no _if_." Jarod bit back, "Lyle _has_ him, Sydney. He called; he told me as much before I spoke with you. He was seen at Luke's daycare. He _has_ to be in the Centre—I've looked everywhere else."

"What do you want me to do, exactly, Jarod?" Sydney asked tiredly, "I'll do everything that I can to help you, but you have to understand. The Centre has _changed_, Jarod. Mr. Parker is no longer there, and Raines is not as kind of a taskmaster. If I'm caught nosing around, it's the renewal wing for me—or an unfortunate retirement."

Jarod sighed—there was a soft thump as his shoulder blades slumped against the wall. "You could at least _pretend_ that you're willing to help me. You're my last hope, Sydney. If this doesn't work…" He trailed off, not wanting to even voice the possibility of turning himself over—giving up his freedom and everything he had worked so hard to secure. It wasn't fair, and he suddenly felt old. The Centre was sucking the life out of him, and the greedy bastards kept coming back for _more_.

"I _will_ help you," Sydney said emphatically, worried by the sudden change in the younger man. He climbed out of his bed, only mildly conscious of the spectacle he made in his pajamas. He walked across to Jarod and put a hand on his shoulder—the younger man obstinately refused to meet his gaze. "I promise, Jarod, I will do everything in my power to help you. I only wanted to make it clear to you that my powers aren't unlimited and there are some things I simply _cannot_ do."

"I understand that," Jarod mumbled, still not looking at him. Sydney could see the desperation weighing him down almost as though it was a physical weight around his shoulders.

"What do you want me to do?" Sydney asked again.

To the older man's surprise, Jarod was suddenly leaning against him, arms wrapped around him and face buried against his shoulder—it took Sydney a moment to respond and wrap his own arms around the young man in kind, more shaken up by the simple act than anything. He could feel the younger man's trembling muscles under his hands, and instinctively began rubbing soothing motions on his back. Then he heard the first strangled sob, and it cut straight into his heart.

"I—I don't know, Sydney," Jarod whimpered against him, unable to stop himself as he broke down completely for the first time since his son had gone missing, his body craving relief from the months of enforced emotional strength. "I… I don't even kn-know."

"Shh, it's alright, Jarod," Sydney soothed, cradling the younger man against him protectively, "It's going to be alright. We'll think of something, I promise."


	5. Something Lost

The Begotten

_R. Winters_

Disclaimer: I do not own the _Pretender_ or other copyrighted material pertaining to it.

I'm back! School went well (and I'll be thankful never to repeat the experience), and now I'm waiting around for the next phase of training, which is lucky for you all because it means I have some time to write. Anyway, thank you to everyone who reviewed—I'm afraid I didn't really have time to respond to the back-log of messages I received, but I really appreciated reading them when I got out. So instead of trying to make up time with replying individually, here's the next chapter, hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 5 – Something Lost

Sydney watched the younger man sleeping on his bed, pity, shame, and concern swirling inside of him. Jarod's face was drawn, and deep circles were visible around his eyes. Combined with the stubble on his chin, he made a ragged sight. Clearly, he'd been driving himself hard with worry these last few months.

It was no wonder, of course. Sydney could only imagine the pain the young man must be experiencing. He understood what it was like to suddenly realize you had a son you didn't know about, and he even thought he might commiserate with some of the pain of losing him just as quickly. When he had learned about Nicholas, he wanted nothing more than to be there for the young man, only he was told that he was neither wanted nor needed in his son's life. Still, at least he had known he was safe and loved with his mother and the man that had raised him in his place.

Jarod had learned he had a son on the same day that he had learned he'd been taken by the power he'd been struggling to be free of for the last six years. The pain and sorrow involved must be even worse than he had felt upon hearing his son had been abducted by terrorists in Africa.

Sighing, Sydney reached out, gently brushing the younger man's hair from his face. He'd let it grow long; longer than Sydney had ever seen it before, at any rate, and it hung around his face like a limp rag.

The psychologist stood, and shuffled from the room, down to his kitchen. He'd start some tea and call in to let Miss Parker know he'd be late today—or he might not be in at all. Perhaps he would tell her he was ill; he certainly felt sick to his heart.

Hopefully, Jarod would sleep for a while, still. He looked like he needed it, and Luke could wait a few more hours. Lyle and Raines were likely keeping him for precisely the purpose of luring Jarod out, and he doubted the boy would be hurt. He certainly hoped not, at least.

Shuddering, Sydney turned the burner on under his teapot and turned to his fridge, shuffling about to find something he could bring Jarod for breakfast.

Fifteen minutes later he returned to his room with a tray of muffins, fruit, and the tea. He opened the door gently, so as not to disturb his sleeping guest, but he needn't have worried. Jarod was standing by the window, peering out between closed curtains.

"It won't be safe for me to leave until after dark," Jarod said without turning, "They're watching your house. You shouldn't have let me sleep so long, Sydney." Finally, he let the curtains drop and turned to face the man, frowning.

Sydney smiled slightly in apology. "You looked like you needed it," he explained dryly. "I brought breakfast," he added, lifting the tray.

For a moment, he thought Jarod would argue—the expression on his face certainly looked like he was ready for a fight—but then the young man sighed and nodded, walking over to join him on the edge of the bed.

Sydney poured the tea and the two men ate in silence, Sydney only nibbling on a small muffin while Jarod devoured the rest of the food.

"… At least you have a healthy appetite," the psychologist commented when the tray was nearly empty, "With the way you look… I was concerned you might not be eating."

Jarod shifted, glancing away and then back, a guilty expression on his face. "Actually, this is the first meal I've had in three days. I didn't realize how hungry I was—Nia and I usually grab something fast between targets, but we split up before I came here."

"Ah," Sydney suspected that meant Jarod hadn't eaten since they'd split up. He frowned thoughtfully, thinking back. "Nia… the name sounds familiar."

Jarod nibbled self-consciously on the final remaining muffin.

"Ah! Yes, Nia Pedron, in Toluca!" Sydney exclaimed with understanding. "I remember her; we stopped by her cabin during the first year after you escaped, only you were already gone." As an image of the woman entered his mind, he turned to the young pretender with a smile, "She's the boy's mother, I presume."

Jarod nodded, still not meeting his eyes.

"She's the one you called me about," Sydney added knowingly, his smile softening, "Your first love after leaving the Centre."

The younger man's cheeks colored a little but he nodded again. Jarod abandoned the last of the muffin and stood up abruptly, beginning to pace as he turned his mind to the problem at hand—he hadn't come to Sydney to reminisce.

"First we need to find out where, exactly, they're holding Luke," he said brusquely, "Maybe Mr. Broots can tap the system from the inside—I haven't been able to find anything from my connection."

"I'll ask him," Sydney promised.

"Have him search for a hole in the security around him," Jarod added, "I might be able to get through security as a janitor, at least in the upper levels, and from there I should be able to reach the air vents. If you can find a way for me to reach Luke, I'm sure I can get in."

"But what about getting back out?" Sydney prompted with concern, "Jarod, I'm not sure you're thinking straight. You need more rest; you need to take better care of yourself."

"I'll worry about getting out after I'm in," Jarod retorted irately. "Besides, they want us alive, which gives me a distinct advantage if it comes down to a fire fight."

"Guns?" Sydney asked with surprise, "Jarod…"

"They took my _son_, Sydney," Jarod interrupted harshly, glowering at the man, "If I have to shoot a few sweepers to get him back, I will."

Sydney sighed and nodded tiredly, "I understand." He stood up and shook his head tiredly. "Just… try to get some rest before you do anything drastic. I told Miss Parker I would be late, but if I go in now I should have time to pass along your directions to Broots. With luck, he'll be able to find something before he has to leave for the night."

He hesitated, looking back at Jarod. "Will you be here?"

Jarod nodded tiredly, "I told you, Sydney, you're my last hope. I don't have anywhere else to go."

* * *

"Oh my god," Broots breathed in alarm, eyes wide and face pale at the very prospect of what Sydney was suggesting. Feeling a little faint, he fumbled for his chair, and sat down heavily.

"Keep your voice down," Sydney chastised softly, glancing around the room—there were no obvious cameras, but that was never a guarantee of anything in the Centre. "Will you help us or not?"

"Of course," the scrawny computer geek replied quickly, managing to keep his voice hushed. "It's thanks to Jarod that I still have Debbie. They really…? That's terrible!"

Sydney nodded in solemn agreement. "Jarod's really bent out of shape this time; I've never seen him so upset before. I'm afraid if we don't find his son quickly, he might do something drastic."

"Like—like what?" Broots asked, nervously licking his lips.

"I don't want to think about it," Sydney replied dryly, "I'm hoping you'll be able to find something before I go home tonight."

"Tonight?" Broots repeated incredulously.

Sydney frowned at him and the scrawny man gulped and nodded.

"I'll do my best, Syd," he promised solemnly.

"I know you will, Broots," Sydney's expression softened a little and he sighed, clapping the man briefly on his shoulder. "I'll catch up with you later. And Broots—thanks," he added, before stepping out of the room.

"Oh, man," Broots groaned, running a hand over the short ring of hair on the back of his head. He shook his head to clear it and turned to his computer. Jarod had once saved him and Debbie from a similar fate; he could not in good conscience allow the Centre to keep the other man separated from his only child.

The thought made his head swim—Jarod was a father, and he hadn't even known it. His stomach twisted with sympathy for the younger man and he was sure he'd never be able to face himself if he didn't find what he needed.

Tapping his code into the computer's call box, Broots began the tedious task of hacking the Centre's electronic backup.

* * *

"Jarod, you need to be patient!"

The younger man turned a glare on Sydney, one that was ferocious enough to make even the psychologist balk, backing off a step. "I've been patient too long, Sydney!" He snapped, "I need to get in there—before things get any worse."

"_Jarod_," Sydney tried again.

"Sydney, I need to do this—I need to do _something_," Jarod insisted, turning to the man with an intense expression, "You weren't able to stand by when your son was held prisoner—how is this any different?"

Sydney made a frustrated sound and moved to the doorway, where he'd left his briefcase leaning against the wall. Jarod was silent, pacing to the window again as his old handler shuffled through papers before returning.

"This is all Broots could find," Sydney supplied, handing Jarod the printouts.

Taking them eagerly, Jarod quickly scanned the pages. "Project Beta," he read aloud, glancing up at Sydney questioningly.

"It popped up out of nowhere," Sydney explained, "Broots couldn't find any development requests; it simply appeared and began draining Centre resources about two months before your son was taken."

Frowning, Jarod skimmed through the first page of the report, coming to the same conclusion. He flipped to the next page as Sydney continued.

"Starting from about a month ago, there have been a few indications of influx from the project," the psychologist explained.

"If this refers to Luke, that means they're making money off of him already," Jarod said grimly.

"Yes, but not nearly enough to offset the costs still going into the project," Sydney said. "It isn't surprising; it's difficult for very young children to effectively deal with the pressures of simulations. As I recall, you nearly had a nervous breakdown after your first pretend, and you were nearly six at the time."

"If they're not careful, they'll create another Angelo," Jarod spat, fingers creasing the papers he held. He couldn't let them do that to his son—he had to get him out.

"There's still nothing to prove that Project Beta has anything to do with your son," Sydney offered weakly, "The timing could simply be a matter of coincidence."

"There are no coincidences at the Centre," Jarod said grimly. "I'm going in."

"At least give us a little more time, Jarod!" Sydney pleaded, "Maybe with a little more time, Broots can figure out what they're doing with this project—or where it's being kept. Give us some more time, Jarod; you don't even know where to start. It's too dangerous right now!"

"_He_ doesn't have any time!" Jarod snapped, meeting the man's concerned brown eyes with his own angry glare.

Sydney flinched back and averted his gaze. "Jarod, please, I'm on your side."

Jarod sighed and ran a hand through his shaggy hair. "I know. I'm sorry, Sydney, I'm just…"

"I know," Sydney said soberly. "Please, a little more time."

The younger man sighed again. "How much time does Mr. Broots need?"

Sydney hedged, "It's a difficult system to crack, Jarod, but, as you know, Broots is among the best."

"How _long_, Sydney?" Jarod asked again.

"… Broots is fairly sure he should have something by the end of the week," Sydney answered reluctantly.

"That's too long," Jarod said impatiently. "Three days, Sydney, and then I'm going in whether he's found something or not."

"Jarod, please," Sydney said again.

"They have my _son_, Sydney!" Jarod reminded him irately, "I wouldn't have him in that place one hour longer."

Sydney sighed, "Three days."

* * *

"Daddy's going to teach me to hunt," Luke said happily.

Dr. Melson frowned, adjusting his glasses. "Luke, please concentrate."

Luke looked up at the image on the wall, eyes roving around the image studiously for several long seconds. "The bird's wings are too big," he said distractedly before looking up at the man again. "Daddy's going to let me hold the gun," he said excitedly, "I hope I can hit something!"

"Lucas, if you don't focus, I may have to speak to your father about distracting you," Dr. Melson said sharply, "If you become out of sorts every time he's about to do something with you, it will have to stop."

Luke looked at him sharply, "You can't do that!"

"I'm sure your father will understand," Dr. Melson said calmly, "He knows how important the work we do here is."

"You can't make us stop doing things!" Luke insisted indignantly, "He's my dad—we're supposed to do things together!"

"Concentrate, and I won't have to," Dr. Melson said.

The little boy made a frustrated sound and turned back to the picture. "The… shadow," he said slowly, forcing himself to look at the image more critically—all he could really think about was that he and his father were soon to have one of the best weekends of his life.

"The shadow?" Dr. Melson prompted impatiently when he didn't continue.

"I don't know," Luke grumbled, "I can't concentrate."

"Luke," the man started tiredly.

"I'm trying!" Luke offered anxiously, turning to face the man with wide eyes. "Please let me go camping with daddy—it's all I've wanted since forever! Please, Dr. Melson, I'll do better when we get back!"

Dr. Melson regarded him silently for a long moment before sighing, his face tilting down slightly. "Fine," he said grudgingly, "You can have the rest of today off. When you return from your camping trip, I expect you to be more cooperative."

"I will be!" Luke said quickly, brightly, "I promise!" For the first time since he'd met the scientist, he was beginning to think he wasn't all bad.

"Go back to your room," the man directed tiredly.

* * *

"They're, uh… that is, I think they're holding him here," Broots stammered, looking at the printouts he'd brought with him rather than to face the pretender who was pouring over every aspect of the scant information he'd been able to discover, "At least, if he's really… there…"

"The Northeast wing of SL-17," Jarod mused aloud, leaning over the tech's shoulder as he peered at the paper he read more closely.

Broots gulped nervously, eyes shooting up to glance at Sydney, who was watching everything with a concerned expression. If anyone discovered what they were doing, they were as good as dead, and while Broots owed Jarod everything, it didn't make him any less anxious around the younger man.

"Cameras?" Jarod asked, intruding into the man's thoughts.

Broots shuffled through his papers before coming onto the correct reports. "I couldn't hack into the video feed," he supplied, "The security is really tight around those rooms, but they're definitely there, I could see their traces in the bunker. The moment you step into that area, they'll be watching you, probably."

"Well, with luck, they won't realize it's me until it's too late for them to do anything about it," Jarod said grimly.

"Jarod, let me try to get to him first," Sydney interrupted, pushing off the table he'd been leaning against to move over to the younger men. "I'll tell Raines that I found out about Lucas myself—maybe I can convince him to give me some time with the boy; to test him against you. Maybe I can get him out of that area, and then you can retrieve him in a less dangerous section of the Centre."

"Too many uncertainties, Sydney," Jarod excused, "Besides, you'll get in trouble if they find out you've been snooping around—you and Mr. Broots."

Broots gulped nervously again, trying not to think of what would happen to Debbie if the Centre did anything to him.

"I still don't think this is a good idea," Sydney said sourly.

"I know the layout of this place better than anyone," Jarod said, tapping the schematics Broots had brought, "Except maybe Angelo. I'll get to Luke—it'll be fine, Sydney." He abandoned his post next to Broots and moved again to the window. "The guards will be shifting in a few minutes—I should go. I have some preparations to do before tomorrow, and it's getting late."

Sydney sighed in resignation, "Just… be careful, Jarod."

The younger man grinned back at him. "Aren't I always?" His smile faded into a serious expression again and he looked between the two anxious men—the good people who had somehow gotten themselves trapped behind the Centre's walls. Sometimes he thought they were victims as much as he was—then he remembered they were among those that had kept him confined for so long; that had tried to bring him back every day since he escaped.

"Thank you for your help, Mr. Broots," he said quietly, "Sydney." He turned his attention back to the curtains, mentally calculating the time to his window of opportunity.

"Jarod," the timid tech's voice distracted him momentarily and he glanced over his shoulder in surprise—Broots hadn't acknowledged him by name since he arrived, other than a spluttered greeting. The balding man offered him a tight smile, "Good luck."

Jarod's lips quirked up again. "Thanks," he said once more, turning away and adding under his breath, "I'm going to need it."

* * *

He entered through the service entrance, head down and eyes shadowed by the lip of his nondescript cap. The jumpsuit he wore identified him as an employee of the janitorial staff commissioned by the Centre. As the regular workday wound down, he wasn't the only one arriving, and he shuffled his wheeled bucket along with the rest, casually entering an elevator on the first floor and punching the button for his desired floor.

_SL-17_

The elevator descended slowly, one floor at a time, and Jarod changed swiftly, exchanging one disguise for another. Quickly undoing the snaps on the front of his shirt, he peeled the uniform off, revealing the white T-shirt and black slacks he was wearing underneath. Pulling the bucket out of the wheeled cart, Jarod pulled out a dress shirt from the empty space underneath, doing his best to smooth out the wrinkles before he pulled it on, glancing at the display above the doors to check his progress.

He was over halfway there.

Reaching into the hidden compartment again, Jarod pulled out a black tie, quickly slipping it around his neck and tying the looping knot before tugging it snug. He reached in once more, pulling out a white lab jacket and slipping it over his shoulders.

Quickly, he retrieved the fallen jumpsuit and stuffed it into the hideahole, replacing the upper portion of the cleaning bucket and pushing the entire contraption into the corner closest to the door, where it would be least likely to be seen from the outside.

He straightened his jacket and did up the buttons on the front, taking a moment to adjust the adopted nametag and ensure his hat was still hiding most of his face. He was standing, ready, when the doors slid open a few seconds later.

Ducking his head, he swiftly walked past a man on his way out, responding with a knowing nod when the man called after him with a complaint about irresponsible cleaners leaving their equipment lying about.

Glancing out from under his cap, Jarod quickly located the camera mounted a little further down the corridor and shifted his pace a little to walk closer to the right wall, the place where the camera would have the worst angle at identifying him.

He walked as though he belonged, legs swinging in a swift but unhurried stride, back straight and head held with just the slightest downturn, as though he was thinking hard about something.

Turning the corner halfway up the corridor, he followed the blueprints in his mind that would take him to the portion of the building Broots had indicated, only to stop short, a slight frown twitching at his lips.

Glancing around for a camera and finding none, Jarod slowly approached the wall that blocked off this hall, some twenty yards from where it started. He put his hand on the obstruction, frowning further. This wall wasn't in the original blueprints. He suddenly felt quite certain that his son was behind it.

Turning around, Jarod walked to the nearest door, testing the handle. It opened and he took a quick look at the room inside, flicking the light switch next to the doorway. It was nothing remarkable—three desks were arranged in between large filing cabinets that covered most of the walls, leaving the area appearing small and cramped. It was also empty. Jarod quickly slipped inside, scanning near the ceiling until he found the duct he was looking for.

Moving with purpose, Jarod awkwardly grabbed around the width of the nearest filing cabinet. His muscles tightened in his arms, stressing as he struggled to move the heavy cabinet. It scraped and squealed across the floor and he grunted with effort until, finally, it was in front of the door.

Releasing a heavy breath, he rubbed his palms on his shirt and flexed his fingers a few times before stealing one of the desk chairs and dragging it across to the portion of the wall where the air duct was installed. He shoved it flush against the filing cabinets before climbing onto it.

The duct, of course, was screwed tightly shut, but Jarod had come prepared for this possibility, and quickly reached under his jacket and into his pants for his screwdriver. It was an awkward reach over the cabinets, but he stuck with it, slowly releasing the screws, one at a time.

* * *

Luke looked up from his book when the door to his room opened. A man slipped inside quickly, shooting a nervous look at the cameras, and the boy's eyes widened in surprise, mouth hanging slightly open.

Jarod turned to look straight at the boy—for a moment, his breath caught and all he could do was stare. Emotions welled up inside of him; stronger than he'd ever felt before. His son was right in front of him, looking just like his photograph; only a hundred times better in person.

"Why are _you_ here!" The boy finally blurted, setting his book on his bed next to him and sliding off the mattress to his feet, thoughts buzzing through his head in a swirl of madness. In particular, his mind turned to his SIMs, and the anger, hate, fear, and sorrow he'd felt coursing through him every time he pretended to be the nameless man.

"Hello," Jarod's mouth was a little slow catching up to his mind, "Do you know me?"

"You're—the man who was looking for something," Luke answered, "I…" He hesitated, and his eyes widened further. He took a step back, "You're not looking for _me_?"

Jarod's lips quirked into a smile, "Actually, that's exactly why I'm here. Come on, Luke, I'm taking you out of this place."

The boy took another step backwards when he moved towards him. "No!" He glanced up at the cameras and scowled. "You should leave—they'll be here soon."

"I'm not leaving without you," Jarod said firmly, "Now, come with me."

Again, Luke shook his head, backing away as the man approached, hand extended. "No!"

"I'm not going to hurt you," Jarod assured him, "Please, I want to help."

"I don't need help," Luke insisted. He ducked, crouching in the corner when the man reached him, squeezing his eyes shut, "Leave me alone!"

Jarod blinked, hesitating, taken off guard by the unexpected response. "Don't tell me you like it here?"

The boy didn't have the chance to answer—the door slammed open and a new voice interceded.

"You heard Luke—he doesn't want to go with you."

Jarod tensed, slowly straightening and turning around. Luke's head snapped up, eyes brightening.

"Daddy!" He exclaimed—Jarod frowned and positioned himself in front of the boy, keeping between him and the three men in the doorway. Lyle stood behind two large sweepers, smiling.

"Step away from my son," Lyle said pointedly, a smug smirk on his lips.

Jarod's lips curled in anger. "He's not your son," he snarled.

"Don't be ridiculous," Lyle shot back, "Of course he is." He nodded to the sweepers, "Restrain him."

The two large men stepped forward—Jarod didn't have the room to fight them off without risking injury to Luke. He growled, struggling pointlessly as hands encircled his arms roughly, pulling him towards the middle of the room.

"Luke," Lyle called past him, "It's alright now, come here."

"Don't, Luke!" Jarod snapped back, pinning the boy with a sharp look, "That _man_ isn't your father."

Wide eyed, Luke looked uncertainly between the two before fixing his eyes on the nameless stranger. "Who are you?"

"Luke," Lyle said warningly, frowning at the boy.

"My name's Jarod," Jarod supplied, "_I'm_ your father, Luke."

"You…" Luke started uncertainly, confusion filling him as he struggled to see the truth. He glanced at Lyle when the man suddenly laughed loudly.

"_You're_ his father?" Lyle asked, laughing again, "_Please_." He walked slowly towards the errant pretender and frowned down at him, all traces of amusement gone. "I'll thank you not to put ridiculous ideas into my son's head," he said coldly, "_David_."

Confusion flicked briefly over Jarod's face, quickly followed by anger, "Lyle!"

The man ignored him, gesturing for Luke again, "Luke, let's go. We have a camping trip to pack for, don't we?"

Still staring warily at the strange man, Luke obeyed, skirting past him and to Lyle's side. "Daddy…" He started slowly.

"He's not your father!" Jarod snapped again.

Without a hint of warning, Lyle lunged into a punch, burying his fist into the younger man's gut—Jarod doubled over with a gasp of pain, the hands on his arms preventing him from falling to the ground.

"I'm in no mood for your games, David," he said coldly, and turned his back on the man, grabbing Luke by the arm, "Come on, Luke. Let's go."

Jarod struggled again, more violently than before, still gasping for breath and reeling from the punch. "Lyle," it came out as a breathless gasp, but he repeated it, more forcefully, "Lyle!"

Pushing the boy through the door ahead of him, Lyle looked back at Jarod over his shoulder, blue eyes crisp and cold. He glanced from the man to the two sweepers. "See to it that our friend calms down," he instructed before pulling the door shut. He would have loved to stay, to push his victory into Jarod's face, but he had to look after Luke to ensure his victory remained whole. He'd catch it on tape later.

Luke slipped his small hand into his father's, and the two of them walked in silence, towards the elevator.

"Um…" Luke broke the silence as Lyle pressed the call button. "Daddy… who is that man…? Why did he come all this way to get me?"

Lyle sighed, turning to face the boy, then knelt down in front of him so they were on the same level. "David is a very sick man," he explained solemnly, feeling a thrill inside as the boy absorbed his lies like water. "He used to be a friend of mine, he worked here at the Centre, but he started to have delusions, and one day he left us."

The elevator arrived and the doors slid open with a _ping!_ Lyle led Luke inside, hitting the key for SL-3. "David and I were close," he added, "Close enough that when I met your mother, he wanted her, too. He took her away from me, when he left, and hid her. I can only guess that he abandoned her when you were born—probably couldn't stand the reminder that she was _mine_, not his."

Luke frowned, staring at the large hand clasped around his own. "He doesn't seem like that," he muttered.

"Some people are very good at hiding who they really are," Lyle said.

Luke glanced up at him, feeling the truth in his words more than anything. He nodded slowly and returned his eyes to the doors in front of them. "When are we leaving, daddy?"

"In a few hours," Lyle promised, "You can wait in my office. I want to make sure _David_ is comfortable before we leave." He smiled down at the boy, "We've had our differences in the past, and I can't say I wouldn't mind never laying eyes on him again after what he did, but he was brilliant in his own time, and an important player in the Centre."


	6. Pretend Again

The Begotten

_R. Winters_

Disclaimer: I don't own The Pretender, The Centre, or related locations and persons.

Thank you for your reviews, everybody, I was glad to know you were still interested after the extended break. All I have to say is... things must always become worse before they can possibly get better. It just makes for good reading. I hope. Please enjoy the chapter!

Chapter 6 – Pretend Again

Lyle smiled at the man, once more caged behind the only set of bars that seemed capable of holding him. Jarod stood on the other side, sporting a swollen jaw and a furious glare in his honey-brown eyes. He was favoring his right side a little, leaving Lyle to wonder whether the ribs were broken or merely bruised.

"Well, this is a cheerful sight," Lyle said at last, tone light and lilting, "Brings back fond memories, doesn't it?"

Jarod's expression only darkened. "Let Luke go, Lyle," he growled, "You have me now, you don't need him."

"You know, I'd like to," Lyle said, still grinning unrepentantly, "But the deal was that you'd turn yourself in and then I'd let him go—it doesn't stand if we Dcatch you."

With a surge of fury, Jarod suddenly lunged, arms shooting through the bars to grab at the man. Lyle backed out of his reach with a laugh and Jarod growled, gripping the bars and shaking with frustration.

"Besides," Lyle added, "Luke doesn't want to leave. He wants to stay here, with me."

"First you take my parents and now you take my son," Jarod spat darkly.

"You forgot one," Lyle said cheerfully, "We took you, too."

Another inarticulate noise of rage tore from the pretender's throat and he banged uselessly on the bars. "You'll _never_ have me!" He shouted, "You can lock up my body, but you can't force me to help you!"

"No," Lyle agreed mildly, "But keep in mind, Jarod… every simulation you refuse is a SIM Luke will have to complete. We've been easing him into the process; he always becomes so distressed when he has to pretend… but we'll step things up if it becomes necessary."

"You bastard," was all Jarod was able to manage, his intellect failing him in the face of such violent emotions.

"_Language_," Lyle chided as though to a disobedient child. He sighed and shook his head, turning away from the bars. "Think about it. You can be unreasonable as long as you like, but unless you cooperate, it will be Luke who faces the consequences. A middle-eastern company wants a particularly volatile solution to a certain problem of theirs, and I'm not sure Luke's ready for it, but Mr. Raines is willing to try him."

"Lyle!" Jarod shouted after the retreating back, outraged.

Lyle didn't look back, waving over his shoulder. "I'm sorry, but I promised myson I'd take him on a camping trip this weekend. Wouldn't want to disappoint, would we, David?"

He didn't wait to hear Jarod's response, although he could hear the man's screaming even as the door shut behind him. He was going to have fun with _that_ DSA. Unfortunately, he had more work to do before he could play.

* * *

Luke stared out the car window, watching as hills rolled by.

Lyle sighed, glancing across at the boy. "Alright, what's wrong?" He asked. Luke looked up at him, brown eyes wide as though he'd been caught sneaking around. Lyle smiled, "Come on, you've been quiet since we left. I thought you wanted to go camping?"

"I do," the little boy said quickly, smiling.

"But?" Lyle prompted, raising an eyebrow and turning his eyes back to the road—it was easier to pretend to care when he didn't have to look the brat in the eye.

Luke shifted quietly in his seat, looking from his father to the window and then to his hands on his lap. "That man…"

"David," Lyle offered helpfully.

Luke nodded uncomfortably. "David," he agreed, "I still don't understand. The way you said it sounded like he would hate me—but if he hated me, why would he come after me? And it didn't _feel_ like he hated me. It was like…" he trailed off, not really wanting to express what he had felt from the other man—not when it had felt more like love than what his own father showed him.

Lyle sighed again, and they drove for several minutes in silence—Lyle didn't listen to music in the car.

"Luke, I'll make you a deal," the man said at last. Luke glanced at him, but his eyes were on the road. "Let's not talk about David on this trip," Lyle continued, "I want this trip to be about us, got it?" He glanced briefly at the boy to add meaning to his words.

Eyes back on the road, he continued. "Try not to let what David said get to you. I'm not too good at this, but I'm your father and you're my son, and together we'll do great things in this world, Luke. Let's focus on _us_ this weekend, alright, buddy?"

Luke frowned at him for a long moment, considering his words and measuring the truth behind them in his mind. At last, a soft smile crossed his face and he returned his eyes to the world blurring past the window. "Alright, daddy."

Lyle smiled—he still had it.

* * *

"Luke…"

The little boy stirred slightly in the passenger seat, but didn't wake.

"Luke," Lyle repeated a little more loudly. "Lucas."

Finally, the boy's eyes cracked open, tired brown staring mindlessly up at the man for a moment. His lips turned in an exhausted smile. "Daddy."

Lyle smiled, "We're here."

Luke brightened immediately, stretching and straightening, squirming to get past his father. Lyle stepped back, allowing him to slip out of the car and look around. Trees towered around them, and a bright blue sky peeked out behind the branches. A little farther down the rocky driveway was a small, log cabin, complete with a porch and friendly looking windows.

"Where are we?" Luke asked eagerly, his eyes zipping from one thing to another. His breath clouded as it left his mouth into the chilly, early spring air, but the boy didn't seem bothered by the temperature. Lyle supposed it wasn't much warmer in Oregon.

"Salt Lake, Minnesota," Lyle answered cheerfully, "Home away from home. How do you like it?"

The boy looked at him eagerly, grinning widely, "Wanna see me climb a tree?" He didn't wait for an answer, scampering off to the nearest tree, which was leaning a little to one side, the tall, skinny trunk bare of branches for the first five feet.

Crossing his arms, an eyebrow raised, Lyle turned to watch. Slipping his shoes and socks off, Luke was at it without a moment's hesitation, hands gripping the wood on both sides as he scampered up the trunk, reaching the first branches in only a few seconds, and climbing even faster. He was nearly teen feet off the ground before he turned to look down, grinning, at his father.

"See?" He asked, "I'm good at climbing."

Lyle chuckled obligingly. "Very good, Luke," he said amiably, "Now, why don't you come down and we'll take a look inside?"

The little boy's eyes glittered happily. "Catch me!" He ordered before jumping from the branches.

Caught off-guard, Lyle's eyes widened, and he raced to catch the falling boy—his ticket to ensuring a certain man behaved himself. This brat was going to take him all the way to the top.

Lyle grunted as the boy fell into his arms. He frowned down at the grinning face, flushed with exhilaration.

"Don't _do_ that!" He snapped, "You could've gotten yourself killed!"

Luke continued to grin unrepentantly, squirming until his father reluctantly put him back on the ground. "I knew that you'd catch me," he said, moving to retrieve his shoes and socks. "When are we eating?"

Lyle scowled, following as the boy headed towards the cabin—this might be more trouble than it was worth. He shook the thought from his head; Jarod was going to be furious when he saw the pictures of their little outing, and he'd enjoy taunting the other man with just how attached the kid was becoming to him. The strengthened attachment itself could only be a good thing.

"I should send you to bed without dinner, for that," he grumbled.

Luke turned to frown back at him, "Daddy, are you mad?"

Lyle sighed and pasted a smile on his lips again. "I'm not mad, Luke… just worried. You shouldn't do dangerous things like that. I don't want you to get hurt out here."

"Fine… I won't," Luke grumbled, "But you're still going to teach me how to shoot, right?"

"As long as you don't try shooting yourself," Lyle retorted.

Grinning, Luke turned back to the cabin, skipping up the steps to the small deck out front, and letting himself in through the unlocked door. Rolling his eyes, Lyle followed. "Maybe I should be more worried about him shooting _me_," he muttered unhappily. It was going to be a long weekend.

* * *

It was the longest weekend of Jarod's life. Every moment he spent agonizing over his situation. He was never taken out of his cell on SL-25. The mush of optimized nutritional supplement (hearts of palm, wheat grass, and asparagus stewed with tomato) that he'd grown up on was slid in through the bars of his door every morning, but he wasn't hungry. He wouldn't have been able to eat even if they'd left him doughnuts, although the nauseating green slop didn't do much for his appetite.

He spent hours at a time stretched out on his hard cot, staring at the ceiling or the inside of his eyelids, unable to sleep but too physically and mentally exhausted to do anything but lay there.

His mind was constantly on Luke. He replayed his meeting with the boy and tried to force it to change. Maybe if he had told the kid his identity right off the bat, Luke would have come with him more easily. Maybe if he had just grabbed him and run, they could have made it out.

The look of fear on the boy's face when they'd locked eyes weighed heavily on him. It was almost the look Gemini had given him, when his clone had been convinced he was there to hurt him, but it was also vastly different. There had been more than fear—some kind of empathy. And he'd referred to him as the man who had lost something. He wondered what the Centre had been telling him.

Most importantly, his thoughts lingered on where his son was now. Out in the woods, with Lyle, alone. The thought alone was enough to make him shudder on his cot. He knew exactly the kinds of things Lyle did in that cabin, and he prayed fervently that Luke wouldn't be made privy to it. It might turn the boy against Lyle, but he wouldn't wish Lyle's sort of hospitality on anyone—least of all, his son.

Down the hall, he heard the door to his cell bock clang open. He couldn't bring himself to look—was it breakfast time already? He kept imagining Luke's battered face and telling himself that Lyle wouldn't do that to the boy. Not when he had such a perfect weapon to use against him.

Another shudder racked through the man's body, because they _did_ have the perfect weapon. How could he refuse their demands when it meant putting his son through more pain? He understood first-hand the fear and confusion involved in certain simulations, and the knowledge that his son was already being put through that—and would continue to be put through it if he didn't cooperate—was difficult for him to bear.

Something loud clanged against his bars, making the pretender cringe and finally look up. Lyle grinned back at him, placing the tray of nutritional supplement through the bars.

"Have a good weekend?" He asked tauntingly, "Did you miss me?"

Jarod groaned, covering his eyes with his arm as a fresh wave of despair swept through him. If Lyle was back, that meant he was out of time, although hopefully his son had returned safely again, as well.

"Where's Luke?"

"With his handler," Lyle said casually, "Although I doubt Dr. Melson is going to get much out of him today—he's been telling everyone who will listen all about our trip. Are you ready to get to work?"

Jarod groaned again, removing his arm from his face and slowly shifting into a seated position. "I want to see him," he demanded.

"Don't be ridiculous," Lyle said callously, "You're never going to see Luke again." He paused, taking a moment to savor the furious look in the Pretender's exhausted eyes. He waved the small, yellow envelope he held and added, "I thought you might say something like that, though, so I brought you the next best thing."

Jarod watched warily as the man took his time, slowly opening the envelope, reaching inside, and pulling out a small, square photograph. With a smirk on his lips, Lyle turned the photo between his fingers, flashing the image in Jarod's direction.

In the picture, Luke was proudly holding out his first kill, a scruffy looking rabbit that had probably gorged itself on too many clovers over the summer. Lyle knelt beside him, an arm wrapped around the boy's scrawny shoulders, and both of them were smiling. Like a real father and son, if Jarod hadn't known better.

Lyle flipped the picture around again and studied the image himself, as though seeing it for the first time. "He was so impressed when I showed him how to shoot," he divulged, "Said he wanted to learn, he wanted to be just like me. Of course, he's so small we had to give him a BB gun, but he was shooting sharp within an hour of getting his hands on the gun. The brat's brilliant, I have to hand him that."

"Lyle!" Jarod raged, "Don't you ever go near my son again!"

Lyle looked up at him, face hard and serious. "Now, _David_, I don't think you're in any position to make demands."

"Stop _calling_ me that!" Jarod snapped, "My name is _not_ David—and _you_ aren't me!"

"You should be thanking me," Lyle said, frowning, "I'm providing Luke with the father he never had in you." His gaze sharpened again and he added, "Although, if that's how you want to play it, I could be something _else_ to him."

From the tone alone, Jarod immediately knew what he was alluding to, and while he wanted Luke to have nothing to do with this sadistic man, he wanted even less for him to have to go through the sort of torture Lyle was capable of dishing out. He slumped, hands finally dropping from the bars to hang limply at his sides, head bowing. "What do you want?" The man asked tiredly.

Lyle's smirk found its way onto his face easily. "What do you think? Sydney has a project that we would like your help on. Interested, Jarod?"

Jarod didn't respond.

"I could, of course, send it down to Dr. Melson instead," Lyle continued thoughtfully, "I'm sure Luke will be able to tell us what caused the explosion in Nigeria that killed hundreds of people. Then again, he's never simulated anyone that's died before; I wonder if the unique connection he seems to have with his pretends will be as strong with them as the others."

Jarod looked as though he'd been sucker-punched; the hurt expression on his pale face was enough to make Lyle laugh.

"Come on, you had to know this was coming! I told you, we have the perfect weapon. There's no use resisting, _David_," he emphasized again, smirking cruelly at the other man's pain.

Jarod felt his resolve truly cracking for the first time in years, desperation flooding inside of him. There was no way he could leave a SIM like this to his son… any SIM at all, really. It was bad enough that he had the blood of thousands of innocent people on his own hands; he wouldn't thrust that fate onto his own son, as well.

But the thought of returning to his lab, of scurrying after their demands like a good little rat, made his stomach ill and his muscles strain. There _had_ to be another way out of this!

Except that there wasn't, and he knew it. He'd spent the last three days trying to prove just that, and he'd come up empty each time. He was beaten, for the moment, at least.

Every fiber of his being screamed in protest as he hung his head, forehead touching the cold bars of his prison. His words were soft, rough with resignation and hopelessness. "I'll do it."

Lyle's smirk blossomed into a grin. "Excellent! I knew you'd see it my way, eventually. Eat your breakfast, David, I'll send some men down to fetch you when it's time."

He turned away from the cell, starting for the door, but paused after only a few steps. Jarod hadn't moved an inch. "Oh, and don't try anything funny with Sydney," he advised over his shoulder, blue eyes sweeping over the pretender's defeated form, "We'll be watching."

Jarod listened absently as the footsteps began again, fading into the distance and then cutting off altogether with a clanging of the door at the end of the hall. Slowly, he sank down to his knees, his heart heavy and his mind in anguish.

* * *

The wheat grass left an almost fuzzy aftertaste in Jarod's mouth. The pretender found it easier to focus on that unsettling sensation than the two sweepers at his elbows. He tried not to pay attention to the man walking ahead of him, or the familiar hallways around him.

He desperately wished he could pretend himself away from this place, even for a little while, but it pressed down on him oppressively, and it was infinitely worse than it had felt when he was a boy.

He shuffled to a stop when the sweepers pulled on his arms, and he didn't dare look up into Lyle's face—because if he did, he wasn't sure he'd be able to restrain himself from attacking the man. As satisfying as that would be, he could only imagine what sort of repercussions it would bring, not only for himself, but also for Luke. Jarod gritted his teeth and tried to imagine he was somewhere else—perhaps at a METS game with Argyle; that would certainly be interesting.

"David," Lyle said sharply, "You're going to work with Sydney now."

Jaw tight, Jarod nodded, because there was nothing else he could really do.

"I don't want you to tell him anything… _unnecessary_," Lyle continued, "Understand? He doesn't need to know about Luke."

Jarod glanced up, brown eyes flashing angrily, "What's this, Lyle? Feeling ashamed of your underhanded techniques?" He doubted it.

Lyle chuckled. "Hardly," he said, "But Sydney can get meddlesome if you give him enough reason to be, and a meddlesome man is a dangerous man." He frowned intently, and ducked his head slightly until he could meet Jarod's eyes. Slowly, he straightened, drawing the Pretender's eyes with him. "And a dangerous man is no longer useful to the Centre," he said quietly, "Alive."

"I didn't know you cared," Jarod said sarcastically.

Lyle snorted, "I don't, particularly. But whenever assassinations are involved, there's always some ugly investigation, drawn out questions, and pockets to pad for silence. Not to mention all of the paperwork—I _abhor_ paperwork. Well—I'm sure you'll do what's best, after all."

Jarod said nothing to the blatant threat. As if having Luke wasn't enough, the man felt the need to threaten everything remotely important to him. He wondered whether the man had something to hold over his twin, as well, or if Miss Parker had somehow managed to insulate herself from these events this time. Then again, maybe she didn't even care—she hadn't been in a good place the last time he'd seen her.

Lyle didn't wait for a response. He turned and opened the door they stood in front of. The sweepers at his elbows forced Jarod forward, through the door after Lyle.

"Jarod!" Sydney's face was a mask of nerves. The old man looked tired and worn, as though he'd spent too much time awake and worrying over the last few days. Jarod supposed he looked similar.

"Don't worry, I haven't done anything to him," Lyle said, rolling his eyes. "You and your pet should get started right away, Sydney," he added, "I'll stop by later to check up on his progress."

Lyle left the room and the two men were left staring at each other, Jarod still restrained by the large sweepers. It was a little embarrassing, for Jarod. He had sworn he would never return to this, and yet here he was, as if he never left.

"You can leave him," Sydney said at last, his eyes flicking to the sweepers.

The man on the left gave Jarod a little shove as he walked away and Jarod stumbled slightly with the movement. He turned to glare over his shoulder as the men positioned themselves by the door—at hand in case anything happened.

Sydney sighed. "I'm sorry, Jarod," he said softly.

With a sigh of his own, Jarod wrenched his attention away from the sweepers and back towards his old mentor. "It's not your fault," he muttered—and for once it wasn't. "We should get started."

Nodding, Sydney led the way to the small round table that had been prepared for them. A projector was displaying the outline of Nigeria on one wall, and the pair seated themselves at the table in such a manner that both could see the picture—Jarod, especially.

For several long seconds neither man spoke, and everything was silent in the SIM LAB. At last, Sydney leaned forward, words hushed and tone low to prevent eavesdropping.

"Is Luke alright?" He questioned quietly.

Jarod glanced towards the sweepers. He shrugged miserably. "I wasn't able to get him out."

"I know," Sydney's expression was apologetic. "We did everything we could to help."

"… We shouldn't be talking about this," Jarod said reluctantly, forcing his attention to the image on the wall, although Nigeria was the farthest thing from his mind. "Lyle said something about an explosion."

Sydney was reluctant to neglect such a major influence on the young man's psych, but he didn't have much of a choice, if Jarod didn't want to talk. Besides, they were being watched, and they really did need to get started.

"One last thing," Sydney said, lowering his voice even further. His deep eyes were filled with concern as he asked, "Did they threaten him?"

For a long moment Jarod gave no response, and it seemed to Sydney that he wasn't going to receive one. Then, at last, the pretender nodded.

Sydney sighed and sat back. He hadn't doubted that they would, but it seemed so horrible to hear his fears confirmed. He'd known, as soon as he heard about the Centre taking Jarod's son, that Lyle and Raines would use him against the kind spirited man, but there was nothing further he could do about it.

"It happened in Lagos," Sydney explained, reluctantly forcing himself to look at the information he had on their situation. "That's on the Atlantic coast, the southern edge of Nigeria."

"I know," Jarod said softly.

Sydney nodded—Jarod probably knew his geography even better than he did. "An old armory storage area in Ikeja exploded on January 27, earlier this year. The death toll has already been estimated well into the hundreds, possibly more than a thousand. The president… Olusegun…"

"Olusegun Obasanjo," Jarod pronounced helpfully.

Sydney smiled slightly, "Yes. He wants to know exactly what happened and how he can ensure it does not happen again. There is no foul play credited at this point, but a lot of suspicion is being focused on George Emdin, the base commander, for negligence, at the very least."

Sighing, Jarod shifted in his seat again. At least they'd been kind enough to give him something he could pretend would benefit mankind for his first pretend since returning, although if they thought they could somehow earn his trust back, they were sadly mistaken.

"Show me," he said tiredly.

The image on the wall flickered, replaced by a scene of devastation that tore into Jarod's soul like a shock of ice-cold water on his flesh. People were running, their expressions twisted with terror. Fire raged on the horizon, and balls of it flew through the air. In the lower right corner a small form lay on the road, body broken and twisted awkwardly—a girl who had been trampled in the haste of the people's escape—and several of the running figures were clutching bloody wounds.

Jarod tasted bile in his throat and regretted, again, eating his breakfast. He could _feel_ their terror, so acutely displayed in the picture. He could smell the panic in the air; the pain, the fear, the stench of human suffering.

He tore his eyes away from the ghastly image and choked down a lump in his throat. "Are there any pictures of the instillation?"

Sydney nodded and the image flickered again, this time revealing the burnt out remains of the ammunition depository. Jarod tried to ignore the echoes of screams on those walls—the cries of pain and terror from the men and women who had been working that night. He stood up, moving closer to the image to inspect the blackened walls further.

If there was anything that could be done to solve this problem, he would find it. He could imagine the horror a young boy—his _son_—would feel, being forced to review images like this and the one previous. He couldn't let them do that to Luke.

* * *

"Luke, I want us to try something different today," Dr. Melson said as he joined the boy at the table in their SIM LAB.

Luke frowned at the man. He didn't particularly like trying new things—not the sorts of new things he'd been made to try at the Centre, at least. "When do I get to see my daddy?"

"Mr… your father is busy," Dr. Melson said, "He'll come see you when he has the chance. For now, I want you to tell me what this is."

The man lifted a flashcard, the black lines on the front twisting and curving to depict a small machine. Luke stared at it, frowning.

"I don't know," he said at last, "I've never seen anything like it before."

Dr. Melson nodded. "Good."

Luke looked up at him with bewilderment, "What? I thought you wanted me to know what it was."

The doctor smiled. "Not precisely," he responded, "This is something you shouldn't have knowledge of, but I had to check to be sure. We're going to try a little experiment, Luke." He looked at the boy evenly. "I want you to pretend to be me," he supplied, "And then I want you to tell me what this is." He set the flashcard on the table between them and slid it closer to the boy.

Luke's eyes had widened, his face paling a little. "You want me to…"

"Become me," Dr. Melson confirmed.

Slowly, Luke shook his head. "But that's impossible. I'm just pretending—I can't know something then that I don't already."

"Of course," Dr. Melson agreed, "But we just want to give it a try, okay, Luke?"

Luke chewed on his lower lip nervously. He'd never pretended to be anyone he knew before. The thought of it unnerved him. It seemed like a violation of something—but Dr. Melson was asking him to do it. Obviously, the man didn't mind.

He wasn't sure he _wanted_ to pretend to be Dr. Melson. He didn't like him, and he didn't like that he kept making him do things like this. He supposed Dr. Melson was better than Mr. Raines, but he would rather not pretend to be anybody.

Reluctantly, the boy nodded his head.

"I want you to concentrate as you pretend, Luke," Dr. Melson instructed, reaching out to tap the card. "I want you to concentrate on this. Tell me what it is—nothing else matters. Understand?"

Luke shrugged uncomfortably, "I… guess."

Dr. Melson nodded, prompting him to continue.

Luke took a deep, nervous breath. He glanced anxiously up at the man and then shut his eyes, concentrating on what he knew of the man.

A few sessions of pretending and it had become easy; almost frightfully easy to slip into someone else's place. Releasing a shaky breath, he imagined that instead of the student, he was the doctor. This was his experiment, his test to see what the boy could do. This was his chance—his greatest work.

He felt excited and anxious. If this worked, the ramifications would be stupendous. He'd be even more useful than Jarod—and _he_ would be the most reputable psychologist in the company if he could manage to hold on to his position.

His eyes opened, and the sight of himself watching him unnerved him a little, but the other Dr. Melson spoke quickly, directing his attention to the flashcard. His eyes studied it out of habit, eyeing the familiar shape.

"What is this?" The other Dr. Melson prompted.

"… It's an electrotherapy machine," the boy supplied, frowning, "This model was first introduced by Edward Nairne in the late 1700s." He glanced up to find the other Dr. Melson smiling at him. His own lips stretched in a smile. "It worked, didn't it? My work is going to become renowned."

The other Dr. Melson's smile faded into a frown. "That's enough, Luke," he said firmly.

Returning to himself was easy. He'd known what was happening, what he'd been experimenting with, so he realized quickly enough that the other Dr. Melson was the _real_ Dr. Melson, and he was only Luke _pretending_ to be Dr. Melson.

The boy frowned. "What does that mean, Dr. Melson?" He asked in confusion, struggling to understand the revelations being the doctor had made clear to him. "What exactly is your work?"

The doctor smiled thinly. "_You _are my work, Luke," he stated, "_This_ is my work. Helping you with simulations and trying to understand how your mind works. It's amazing, you know. What you just did shouldn't be possible."

Luke frowned uncomfortably. "I know," he agreed. He considered silently for a moment as the man made a note on his papers. "Dr. Melson… what does it mean? If it's impossible, how can I do it?"

"Hopefully we'll figure that out, one day," Dr. Melson said, looking up at him with an almost fond smile. "Your mind is special, Luke. It's different from every other mind on the planet. You're more than brilliant, there's something else special about you, something to do with the way you get into the minds of the people you pretend to be."

"I don't like pretending to be other people," Luke said warily.

"I know you don't," Dr. Melson said tolerantly, "But I think you'll learn not to let it bother you so much. Think of everything you could do with your mind, Luke. You could become the victim of a crime, and you would be able to point out the criminal every time, because you would be able to _see_ him. Theoretically, you could study the knowledge of the most brilliant researchers in any given field, and using your own logic, expand on what you learn from them, modifying technologies and solving problems years ahead of their time. Luke, do you understand how _important_ your mind is?"

Luke stared at the man solemnly, a little overwhelmed at the revelation. He'd been told time and again, ever since he could remember, that he was brilliant. By his mother; by his preschool teachers; by his father. But until this moment, he hadn't realized exactly _how_ brilliant he was. Could his mind really be that much more remarkable than Dr. Melson's or anyone else's?

"That's why you need to use it," Dr. Melson continued excitedly, "That's why we need to _train_ you to use it. To bring it to the peak of its usefulness. Luke, with a mind like yours, you can't settle for any mainstream job. You belong in a place like this, where we can help you use your mind for the good of all mankind."

"… Can I see my daddy now?" Luke asked with a frown. He wasn't sure he cared about all mankind. Certainly, his mother had always told him to help people, but he didn't know much about the world as a whole. It seemed like a far off thing, and all he really wanted was to live happily with his parents. If he was so brilliant, why couldn't he figure that out?


End file.
